


Beautiful Incongruence

by charlie_weasleys_gf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Krum Is A Creep, Mrs Norris Runs The School, No Smut, Pining, Sassy Blaise Zabini, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, starts in third year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 08:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 152,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26969044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlie_weasleys_gf/pseuds/charlie_weasleys_gf
Summary: “You are not an easy person to talk to, Granger.”“Well, you haven’t made the prospect of talking to you sound very exciting."Hermione Granger was ready for her third year at Hogwarts-that was, until it was interrupted by time turners and apologising assholes.In which Draco Malfoy apologises (a lot).[Completed]
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger & Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 149
Kudos: 228





	1. The Prefect's Compartment

_“Humanity is good. Some people are terrible and broken, but humanity is good. I believe that.”_

_Hank Green_

Hermione reached forward to shut the compartment door behind the retreating forms of Malfoy and his cronies. The door slammed a little harder than necessary and Professor Lupin grunted in his sleep behind her. Harry shot an odd look at her and she sank back down into her seat, trying to look calm. She didn’t feel like explaining her irritation to Harry and she certainly didn’t feel like cutting off the rant Ron had started following the Slytherins’ exit. Truth be told, she was almost as irritated at Ron and Harry for taking the bait as she was at Malfoy for his remarks. Hermione just wished they could ignore him for once. She was sure Malfoy would back off if he wasn’t guaranteed to get a rise out of them every time.

Ron’s ranting was growing louder, making it difficult for Hermione to think. She quickly glanced at the sleeping teacher again before hissing a warning at Ron. The irony of warning Ron to be quiet so as not to wake the professor after she had slammed the door did not escape her. Judging by the way he was smirking at her, hadn’t escaped Harry either. Huffing in annoyance, Hermione stood up and excused herself to the bathroom. She didn’t really need to go but she needed to calm down away from her two best friends.

Hermione wandered down the hall, unsure where to go. She thought vaguely of visiting Ginny in her compartment of second years for a bit, but she didn’t really know Ginny that well and Hermione wasn’t sure if it would be odd to join her with her friends. Sure, they had shared a room at the Burrow and the Leaky Cauldron, but they rarely talked in the school year, usually settling into their separate friend groups. Hermione had just begun to think that perhaps she would go to the bathroom when she heard a hiss from what had appeared to be an empty compartment. Slowing down, she turned to look at the compartment where the noise appeared to be coming from.

“Granger!” the voice hissed again.

Hermione stared at it quizzically. It was a male’s voice and it sounded familiar, but she could not think of who would be calling her to talk in a private compartment. Intrigued, she stepped forward.

“Hello?” she spoke through the crack in the compartment door.

The door cracked open further, enough to allow her to step in. Hermione stood rooted in her spot. Given her experiences in her first two years at Hogwarts, she was not about to blindly step into a compartment with a stranger.

“Who’s there?” she demanded.

“Just get in here!” the hushed voice said. “I want to talk to you, okay?”

“I’m not coming in until you show me who you are,” Hermione said, aware that her voice had risen to a higher note, despite trying to hide her nerves.

The voice sighed, but the door remained unmoved. Hermione shrugged and turned to walk away. If this person really wanted to speak to her then they could find her, but she really didn’t have the patience for this.

The voice spoke again as she turned away.

“ _Wait_ , Granger.” Whoever it was sounded defeated, and she heard the door slide open behind her.

Hermione was so close to walking away anyway, already irritated at whoever this was, but her curiosity got the better of her. She turned around and stared, stunned. What on earth would Malfoy want to talk to her about? Recalling his earlier remarks to Ron, Hermione scowled. Malfoy was clearly looking for another opportunity to ridicule them.

“Back off, Malfoy,” she said coolly. “Go find some other way to entertain yourself.”

An odd look briefly fluttered across Malfoy’s face, but as she turned to walk away again, he reached out to grab her arm.

“Let go, Malfoy! I swear I—”

“Just listen for one second Granger!” Malfoy cut her off, his voice finally rising above a whisper. He tugged on her arm, attempting to pull her into the compartment and shot a furtive look down the hall, clearly worried someone had seen them talking.

“No, I won’t listen,” Hermione said firmly, still struggling to pull her arm free and resolutely refusing to enter the compartment.

“Granger, I just want to speak to you for one moment—then you can go.”

“Oh, like I would believe that! You’ll probably get me into that compartment and then curse me so that I speak only in troll or something!”

Malfoy looked surprised for a second and briefly loosened his grip on her arm. Hermione pulled herself free, but he regained his grip as her hand shot through his fingers.

“That was creative, Granger,” Malfoy said with a smirk, still clinging to her hand, “but I am not going to curse you.”

Hermione snorted and focused on loosening his grip on her hand.

“I’m telling the truth. Will you just listen to me?”

Hermione looked up briefly from their hands to give him a disbelieving stare.

“Look--I’ll prove it to you,” Malfoy said helplessly.

He released his grip on her hand and she snatched it away from him, rubbing where his fingers had dug into her skin. Malfoy reached into his pocket, pulled out his wand and handed it to her, the tip facing towards himself.

“There,” Malfoy said, “I can’t do anything. Now will you listen to me?”

Hermione hesitantly reached for his wand. Turning it in her hands, she narrowed her eyes.

“How do you know I won’t curse you?”

“You’re a Gryffindor,” Malfoy said with a smirk. “You’re too noble to curse someone who doesn’t have a wand.”

Hermione didn’t answer because she didn’t want to admit he had a point.

“So?” Malfoy persisted, glancing down the hall again at a burst of laughter from a nearby compartment.

Hermione looked distracted, as though it had just occurred to her how odd this would appear if someone were to walk out of their compartment at that moment.

“So what?” she said inattentively, still staring down the corridor.

“ _So_ —will you talk to me now?” Malfoy said urgently.

Hermione stared down at the wands in her hands, weighing the situation in her mind.

“Okay.”

A look of relief washed over Malfoy’s face and he immediately stepped backwards into the compartment, leaving the door open for her to follow. Hermione tentatively stepped in, but left the door open. Malfoy reached to shut it, but Hermione blocked his arm.

“Leave it open.”

“I want to talk to you privately.”

“Well then do it with the door open.”

“Anyone can walk past.”

“Exactly.”

They stared at each other, both refusing to move from their stance.

“C’mon Granger, we both know how this will look if someone walks past. Just shut the door.”

“You’re worried about what your Slytherin friends will think if they see you talking to me,” she said flatly.

“And you’re not worried about what Potter or Weasley will say if they see us in here together?” Malfoy retorted.

Hermione bit her lip. Malfoy had a point--didn’t want to have to explain the odd situation.

Malfoy groaned. “You have both of our wands. Just shut the door.” 

Hermione hesitated before dropping her arm to let Malfoy slide the door shut. They stood for a moment, Hermione with her arms crossed and grip still firm on Malfoy’s wand, her own peeking out of her pocket.

“You are not an easy person to talk to, Granger,” Malfoy said with a heavy sigh.

“Well, you haven’t made the prospect of talking to you sound very exciting,” she replied coolly.

Malfoy paused at this and nodded slightly, as if in agreement. A look of confusion shot across Hermione’s face. What game was Malfoy playing at now?

“I just wanted to speak to you…I guess I want to say…I wanted to talk to you about—”

“Malfoy, what are you on about?” Hermione cut across his spluttering.

Malfoy fell silent and took a breath, preparing to speak again.

“I wanted to—I wanted to apologise.” Malfoy avoided her eyes. He spoke so quickly, she almost missed what he said.

Hermione’s stare faltered for a moment and her grip on his wand slipped.

“I—what?” was all she could respond.

“For last year. I wanted to apologise.” The words continued to rush out of his mouth, as though he was unable to stop them. “I don’t remember what I said to you exactly but I think you got the idea pretty clearly that I wanted to see you attacked by Slytherin’s monster.” He paused and shot a look at her before returning his stare to their feet. He took a breath before mumbling, “I didn’t just want to see you petrified.”

Malfoy paused and looked up, likely expecting Hermione to yell at him. She didn’t speak--she was frozen in shock at his words. Malfoy continued, shifting his eyes from the ground to the wall behind her head.

“I don’t know why I said that last year. Or, I guess I do but I wish I hadn’t.” He ran an agitated hand through his hair, too distracted to notice his usually perfectly gelled hair now stood up at odd angles. “Look, last year when you were petrified, I saw you in the hospital wing and—I don’t know, when I saw you lying there I felt responsible. You were so still you almost looked dead and it was horrible because--I’d wished it. I didn’t get a chance to say anything last year so I need to say it now. Clear my conscience or whatever.”

Malfoy finished suddenly and stood shifting uncomfortably, still staring resolutely at the wall behind her. Hermione stood silently for a moment, unsure how to respond. Attempting to prolong the moment until she had to reply, Hermione forced out the first question she felt able to articulate.

“How did you see me in the hospital wing? I thought Pomfrey didn’t allow any students in.” 

Malfoy sighed. “Does that really matter?”

“Of course it does. How am I supposed to believe you if your story doesn’t even make sense?”  
  
Malfoy looked as though he going to argue again, then, with a resigned look, answered in a flat tone. “I was helping Professor Snape deliver nutrient potions for everyone that had been petrified.”

Hermione thought there was still something odd in this response--why would Snape ask a second year to help over the much more experienced sixth and seventh years? After a moment, however, she decided his answer was reasonable enough to accept.

“So, you’re sorry you said those things to me last year and that you called me—called me that word? Or are you just sorry you had to feel guilty about it?” Hermione said, accusatorily.

Malfoy looked annoyed. “I don’t know Granger, isn’t it the same thing?”

“Not really, no,” Hermione replied, a trace of pity in her voice.

“Can’t you just accept my apology?” Malfoy said, a note of desperation pushing through his irritated tone.

Hermione studied him. For whatever odd reason, this had clearly been eating away at him. However she felt about it, she didn’t like feeling responsible for the turmoil Malfoy was in. Slowly, she nodded her head. A look of relief instantly washed over Malfoy’s face.

“Thanks, Granger,” he said, so quickly she almost missed it.

Malfoy walked towards the door quickly, clearly eager to leave now that he had gotten the answer he had pulled her into the compartment for. He held out his hand for his wand as he pushed the door open.

“Wait,” Hermione hedged as she passed his wand over. “Does this mean you’re going to be different? Less of an arse?”

Malfoy stood for a moment with one foot out of the door, looking as though he didn’t quite understand her question. He opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of footsteps in the hall caused him to turn his head away from her. Pansy Parkinson’s voice rang out across the hall.

“There you are, Draco, we’d been wondering where you’d disappeared to. What are you doing in that compartment?”

“Tsk, tsk Pansy, didn’t your mother teach you not to be nosy?” Malfoy replied. His voice had jarringly returned to its typical snobbish tone.

Parkinson scoffed. Hermione shifted backwards into the compartment as the Slytherins neared Malfoy, hoping the shadows would be enough to hide her. Despite what Malfoy had said, she didn’t much feel like a confrontation with the Slytherins would end well for her.

“C’mon, we’re going to find the trolley witch. Greg’s hungry,” Parkinson said and Hermione saw a hand reach into the compartment to grab Malfoy’s arm.

“Greg’s always hungry,” Malfoy said, stepping out of the compartment. As he left, Malfoy turned his head, almost imperceptibly to look at Hermione. She was almost entirely hidden in the shadows and, before she could even think of speaking, he had turned back to his friends and left her standing in the dark compartment.

She sank into the seat behind her, perplexed by what she had just experienced. After a couple of minutes, she stood up and checked outside the compartment door. Seeing there was no one there, she turned and headed back to her compartment with Harry and Ron, mind buzzing with a hundred different questions.

\---

Hermione ducked back into the compartment to hear Ron and Harry arguing over quidditch plays. She rolled her eyes as she sat down and pulled a book from her bag, though she doubted she would be able to concentrate on the words. Her mind was still running through what Malfoy had said to her. Had he really meant it or was he pulling some sort of elaborate joke? Surely if it had been a joke he would have told his friends she was there though. Wouldn’t he? But maybe they were in on it too and knew she was there and were playing along to help Malfoy pull it off. If that was the case, then what kind of joke relied on Malfoy apologising to her? It just didn’t make sense.

Hermione suddenly realised the compartment around her had gone silent again and looked up at Harry and Ron. They were both watching her expectantly.

“What?” asked Hermione, bewildered. Surely she hadn’t said any of that out loud.

“Harry just asked where you went. You were gone for a while,” Ron said, giving her a quizzical look.

“I told you, I went to the bathroom. It’s all the way down the other end of the train and I stopped to talk to people on the way.”

“You stopped to talk to people?” said Ron, disbelievingly.

“Yes, is that so absurd? I have other friends you know and I haven’t seen them since last term!” Hermione could hear how harsh her voice sounded. She felt a tinge of guilt, but she desperately wanted the boys to change the topic.

Ron raised his eyebrows and exchanged a puzzled look with Harry, clearly unwilling to argue with Hermione when she was in this mood. Before they could question why she was so bothered, Hermione changed the topic.

“You know there’s an empty compartment at the end of the carriage? I saw it when I walked to the bathroom. How come we didn’t see it when we got on the train?”

“At the front of the carriage?” Ron clarified.

Hermione nodded.

“That’d be the prefect’s compartment.” 

“How do you know? There’s no sign on it.”

“Bill told me. Apparently the prefects all meet in a carriage at the beginning of the train ride and divide up patrol duties. They use it as a base for meetings.”

“It was empty when I went there.”

“Well, a lot of them choose to go back and sit with their friends.”

“So they just leave it empty? Why can’t we use it?” Harry cut in.

“Nah, they get mad if other people use it. Would probably give us a detention before term starts.”

“Really?” Harry said, surprised.

“Yeah, they reckon they need it for emergency meetings,” Ron answered with a snort.

An unpleasant realisation washed over Hermione. So that was what Malfoy had been planning. Lure her into the forbidden prefect’s compartment where she’d be caught with two wands looking as though she was bullying him. How could she have been stupid enough to fall for it? She pushed away the thought that it didn’t make sense for Malfoy not to tell his friends and to go away with them rather than wait for her to get caught. It made much more sense for Malfoy to be planning something than to have genuinely apologised. Yes, he clearly had been plotting to get her in trouble with the prefects before the term began.

“We must be nearly there,” Ron said, looking past Professor Lupin and out the window.

The train was certainly slowing down. She looked down at her watch and gave Ron a puzzled look; this was much earlier than when they’d usually arrive. She said as much to the boys, who stared around, bemused. Harry stood up to look out the door and the train suddenly went dark. It came to a stop and Hermione heard the unmistakable sound of luggage falling off racks. She pressed her ear to the door to try to hear what was happening, but couldn’t block out Ron and Harry’s muttering. In the chaos, Neville and Ginny stumbled into the compartment, just as confused as they were. Hermione was about to yell at them to be quiet so that she could think, when a hoarse voice silenced them.

Professor Lupin had awoken and risen from his corner, a handful of flames in his palm. Hermione noted that the charm must be similar to the one she uses to create bluebell flames and studied the way he held them carefully. Before she could enquire, however, he spoke again, ordering them not to move. They waited expectantly, staring at each other and the professor in the dancing light. The compartment door slowly slid open and every head turned towards the noise. It was pulled by a horribly scabbed hand--thin, skeletal and distinctly inhuman. A cloak shifted and the hand disappeared from view and the creature advanced into their compartment.

A wave of intense cold washed through Hermione and a pair of large yellowed eyes swam into her vision. A girl screamed but was suddenly cut short and her body was still, frozen, paralysed. She was trapped, her mind as paralysed as her body, as close to death as she would ever be and she felt cold, so cold she could feel it in her bones—she could feel it _freezing_ her, paralysing her again.

The thud of a body crashing to the floor broke through the thick haze and she refocused on the scene in front of her, blinking away the yellow eye-like spots in her vision. Harry had collapsed to the ground and was shaking violently.

“Harry!” Ron cried.

Neville grabbed Ron’s hand as he reached for his friend. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to touch him.”

Ron retracted his hand, staring worriedly at Harry. He looked up at Lupin pleadingly, who moved forward, calmly stepping over Harry’s shaking form.

“None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks,” Lupin said calmly.

The creature did not move.

“ _Go_!” Lupin roared and each of the kids jumped back. The creature remained unaffected.

He sighed before muttering a few words under his breath and a ghostly light erupted from his wand, forcing the creature back and out of the compartment.

Lupin turned back to the pale group and relit the lights inside with his wand, before turning to study Harry’s shaking form. A look of sympathy crossed his face as he looked down at the young boy. Harry’s shaking slowed and Lupin spoke to Ron.

“Help me move him, will you? It’s not good for him to be slanted across the floor like this.”

Ron hurried to lift Harry’s head and Hermione grabbed the pillow she had been leaning against to slide underneath it. Harry stirred slightly and Ron immediately spoke to him.

“Harry!” Ron yelled at his best friend’s unconscious form, “Harry! Are you alright?”

“W—what?” Harry spoke groggily.

Harry’s eyes slowly opened and trailed over everyone in the compartment. He reached beside him for the glasses Hermione had removed and placed them back on his face. Noticing he was attempting to push himself up, Hermione grabbed his arm to support him and motioned for Ron to do the same. Together, they pulled him up onto the seat he had fallen from.

Hermione heard Ron and Harry talking but, with her worry for Harry lessening, her mind returned to what she had seen. The scabbed hand of the creature forcing its way into the compartment and the horrible freezing cold that had filled the room and sank deep into her bones, deeper than she thought cold could ever reach. And those eyes--the cruel yellow eyes that had broken into her vision and frozen her in an entirely different way, frozen her until she felt trapped in her own body, her mind screaming but her limbs refusing to move.

A loud snapping sound broke Hermione’s thoughts and she looked to see Professor Lupin breaking up a slab of chocolate. Harry was asking what the creature was and made an absent-minded note to research ‘dementors’. Lupin passed her a piece of chocolate and she accepted it without taking a bite, her mind still on the dementor.

Lupin said something about speaking to the driver and left the compartment. Hermione suddenly looked up at Harry. She had been so consumed by her own thoughts, she hadn’t even checked on her best friend. If the dementor made her remember the basilisk--which is what she knew those yellow eyes had been--then it must have done the same for Harry and he was nearly killed by it. He must be feeling horrible.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Harry?” Hermione questioned worriedly.

Harry didn’t answer, but asked about the dementor. Hermione knew Harry well enough to take this to mean he wasn’t okay and decided to ask him about it later when they were in private. He probably didn’t want to talk about it in front of Ginny and Neville.

The group filled Harry in on what they had witnessed—Hermione carefully didn’t join in when the others discussed how it felt. Behind her, she heard Ginny give a small sob and she suddenly remembered Ginny too had been greatly impacted by the basilisk. This creature must have some connection to it. Her mind still whirring with images and thoughts of the basilisk, Hermione moved to place a comforting arm around Ginny. Distantly, she heard Ron say Ginny had been shaking like mad and felt horribly guilty for not having noticed. She’d have to try to speak to Ginny too to make sure she was okay.

Professor Lupin came back to the compartment and made a joke about the chocolate. They all smiled weakly and took a bite. Surprisingly, Hermione felt an almost instant warmth flood into her and she felt her stiffened body loosen again. She looked at the others--from the relaxed looks on their faces that they must be experiencing a similar sensation.

The rest of the train trip was sobered, but relaxed. Neville and Ginny remained in their compartment and they all walked together to find a carriage to the castle. The trip was mostly pleasant—aside from passing the dementors on the way to the castle--and Hermione recalled Lupin saying they were guarding the castle this year. This seemed odd--Hermione resolved to research them at first opportunity. With this in mind, she was able to relax and focus on excitement about the welcome feast. Hermione leaned out the window, the cool night air reddening her nose and cheeks with a pleasant sting as she watched the castle come into view.

As they walked up the steps to the castle, Malfoy’s voice called from below them. She had almost forgotten about their conversation in the prefect’s compartment and panic rushed through her as she thought of what he might say to Harry and Ron. She had been such a fool to follow him in there and, though she had considered telling her friends, she was sure they would agree she had been foolish and wanted instead to forget it ever happened. 

Apparently that was not what Malfoy was going to do. He blocked their way up the stairs, and sneered at Harry. Hermione realised he was ridiculing Harry, not her and quick rush of relief washed through her, followed by a much larger wave of guilt. How had he heard about the dementor so quickly?

Professor Lupin appeared behind them and Hermione calmed, sure that he would handle the situation before Ron threw a punch, which she recognised from his clenched fist could be any second now. Hermione pushed Ron forwards to make him hurry into the castle, and he dragged Harry with him by the elbow. She couldn’t stand hearing Malfoy’s taunts after his humiliation of her. Hearing them made her certain she had been right that he had merely been trying to get her in trouble by pretending to apologise to her. She felt idiotic for even considering for a second that he was being truthful.

Hermione strode into the entrance hall, but paused when she heard her and Harry’s names called across the throng of people. Professor McGonagall was calling over the heads of the crowd. She exchanged a bemused look with Harry before turning back to talk to the professor. The pair looked even more confused when she excused Ron from their discussion.

Professor McGonagall led them to her office, where she and Madam Pomfrey questioned Harry about the incident with the dementors. Harry looked very uncomfortable and she was sure he was thinking of Malfoy’s taunts. Or perhaps she was the only one who couldn’t stop thinking about Malfoy’s cruel jokes.

Though Hermione now understood why Harry had been called to speak to McGonagall, she couldn’t quite understand why she had to come too. If they had been worried about Harry walking back to the feast on his own then surely Ron would have been allowed to come too.

Hermione received her answer when McGonagall excused Harry and asked her to remain seated. She stared nervously at her professor, trying to think of what she would need to talk about before term had even started.

“Miss Granger, I want to discuss your timetable with you,” McGonagall began.

Hermione gave her a quizzical look.

McGonagall continued. “You are aware that you have signed up for every elective subject?”

“Yes—you see, I couldn’t decide because I didn’t want to miss out on anything. Do you think I could for them all in? I’ll do extra work outside of class hours if I need to!”

“Ordinarily, it would be out of the question. To fit in the timetable, lessons must be scheduled at the same time and it would be unfair to arrange private lessons to make up for the ones you miss. It would be impossible for one person to attend every subject.”

Hermione looked crestfallen.

“However, Miss Granger, you have shown great potential. You are one of the brightest witches I have met at your age and I do not wish to prevent you from having the opportunity to achieve your full potential.”

She blushed at the rare praise from McGonagall.

“I have spoken with the Ministry and, given your academic records—they have agreed to grant you special permission to use a device to assist you in attending all your classes.”

At Hermione’s confused look, McGonagall reached into her desk and pulled out a locked wooden box. She tapped it with her wand, muttering a spell, and the lock fell off. McGonagall opened the box and reached inside to pull out an odd necklace with an hourglass encircled by delicate golden circles. Hermione stared as McGonagall held it out carefully to her.

“Is that…?”

“Yes, Miss Granger. This is a time turner.”

Hermione gasped softly and reached out to take it.

“Now Miss Granger, you must understand that I and the Ministry are trusting you greatly in giving you use of this time turner. You must use it only to attend class and for nothing else. There are very strict rules about the practise of time travel—disobeying them can have catastrophic consequences.”

Hermione nodded gravely as McGonagall continued to speak.

“Terrible things have happened to wizards who have not obeyed these laws. You must never be seen, and you must remember you cannot change what has already happened. You must be very careful with this and I think it goes without saying that you cannot divulge this to anyone. As an afterthought, she added, “Not even Potter or Weasley.” 

“I promise I will be careful. Thank you very much, Professor McGonagall,” Hermione said earnestly.

McGonagall nodded at her.

“I will show you how to work it now, but I will also meet you after your first class to ensure you use it correctly. It is simple enough to use—you turn it backwards to go back in time; the number of turns equates the number of hours you will travel. Travelling forward in time follows the same principle, however I cannot imagine you will need to do this.” She paused to give a pointed look, making it clear Hermione was to only use the time turner for her schoolwork. She continued in the same stern tone. “Rewind the time after each lesson to ensure you can attend the lesson in another subject. Your teachers have been informed of your special circumstances and will therefore be sympathetic if there is an issue. I trust, however, that you will be able to keep up with your classes this year and will inform me of any problems or questions?”

Hermione nodded and looked at the time turner as McGonagall spoke to her.

“Put it on then. I recommend you do not take it off to prevent others from seeing it.”

Hermione reached up to clasp the time turner behind her neck.

“I will meet you after the class written first in your timetable tomorrow and before the one you have at the same time to ensure you have successfully made it to both. I believe you have Transfiguration second, so please head there as usual and I will assist you in attending your other morning classes. And Miss Granger,” she added, a note of sincerity in her voice, “I look forward to seeing your success.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione said, a small smile on her face.

McGonagall showed her out of her office and they joined Harry outside. The three of them walked to Great Hall for the feast together and Hermione thought happily of the time turner trusted to hang around her neck, Malfoy’s taunts cast entirely from her mind.


	2. Time Turners and Apologising Assholes

It didn’t seem that Malfoy would let her forget for long, however. As Hermione entered the Great Hall with Harry and Ron, Malfoy began performing an elaborate impersonation of a fainting fit. Sensing Harry’s ill-controlled anger rising, Hermione leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“Ignore him. Just ignore him, it’s not worth it.”

She didn’t know who she was trying to convince more, but at least calming Harry meant she was distracted from her own humiliation. She could hear Parkinson add her taunts to Malfoy’s, but Hermione turned her back and directed Harry to the Gryffindor table, hoping desperately that none of them would mention her lapse in judgement. Hermione was so caught up in her own thoughts that she almost missed George’s comment about Malfoy.

“—running into our compartment, didn’t he Fred?”

Apparently Malfoy had been scared of the dementors--so why would he be making fun of Harry now? Her puzzlement over Malfoy’s actions was cut short when she noticed George had placed her new timetable on her plate in front of her. She examined it closely. Yes, as McGonagall said, there were multiple classes scheduled at once. Her eyes widened as she looked at her morning. She had three subjects at 9 o’clock. She gently placed her hand to her neck, pressing the cool chain into her skin. Her stomach somersaulted with a mixture of nerves and excitement. It was an honour to be trusted to use the time turner and Hermione knew how difficult it would have been for McGonagall to obtain it. At this she felt a burst of pride and eager anticipation for the day. Who cared if it was a tad busy? She was getting the opportunity no other student had.

Looking back up from her timetable to talk to the boys, she could hardly contain her excitement. Of course, she could not say every reason why she was excited, so she simply said, “Ooh, good, we’re starting some new subjects today.”

Hermione immediately realised her mistake as Ron leaned over to peer at her timetable. Unable to pull it away from him, she saw his eyebrows furrow in confusion as he peered at her timetable. Hermione hurriedly brushed off his queries about her full workload and changed the subject. She knew she had snapped at him and felt a little guilty, but at least Ron stopped his questioning and she could breathe a sigh of relief.

\---

Hermione strode from Divination so quickly that Harry and Ron struggled to keep up with her. She was so irritated with the waste of time her lesson with Trelawney had been that she almost forgot about her meeting with McGonagall to prepare her for the first use of her time turner before Transfiguration. Hermione hurried into the classroom just before the bell with Ron and Harry at her heels. She made her way to the teacher’s desk and McGonagall gave her a swift nod.

“I have already met you before Muggle Studies so it is clear that this will be successful,” McGonagall said in a low voice. “Step outside to use the turner and I expect to see you in a moment after your Muggle Studies Class.”

Hermione nodded, her head spinning slightly at the backwards information and quickly turned out of the classroom. She glanced at Harry and Ron as she left to ensure they had not noticed her exit, but she needn’t have worried. Her two best friends had long since gotten used to her speaking to teachers and had already tuned out of the lesson at the back of the class.

Outside the classroom, Hermione leant against the wall for a moment, preparing herself before looking around to make sure the coast was clear. After several glances up and down the hall of the Transfiguration corridor, Hermione pulled the time turner from its spot hidden beneath her robes. She braced herself before slowly spinning the outer circle backwards.

There was the feeling of an invisible force pulling her backwards as the corridor faded to a blur of colour and shapes. Her ears pounded as though assaulted by noise, although she could hear nothing. As abruptly as it started, the force pulling Hermione stopped and the corridor slowly came back into view. She looked around cautiously, unsure if her use of the time turner had been successful. Hermione glanced at her watch and was puzzled to see it read the same time as it had before she had used the time turned. Clearly something had occurred, but how could she be sure she had travelled one hour backwards? 

Thinking quickly, Hermione calculated that if she had travelled an hour back, she would have fifteen minutes before her Muggle Studies class began to figure out if she was at the right time. Of course, if she hadn’t travelled back, the classroom behind her would be full of her Gryffindor classmates. She turned around and peered through the door. The classroom was empty, just as it would be fifteen minutes before the first bell. Relieved, Hermione took off in the direction of Muggle Studies, tucking the time turner into her robes as she did so.

Hermione arrived at the Muggle Studies classroom with ample time before the first bell and was the first of her classmates in attendance. Hermione felt a burst of confidence as Professor McGonagall came towards her from the other end of the corridor five minutes before the lesson began.

“Congratulations, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said by way of greeting.

“Thank you Professor,” Hermione said, still a little breathless from her adventure and run to Muggle Studies.

“You had no problems, I trust?”

“No, none at all,” Hermione said, hoping she sounded confident.

“Well, I had better be off. I will see you shortly in my class.” With that, she turned and walked back down the corridor and out of sight.

Hermione saw that several students had joined her in front of the Muggle Studies classroom and realised why McGonagall had ended their conversation. It was prudent to act as though everything was ordinary to prevent students becoming suspicious and Hermione having lengthy conversations with her Head of House around the school would certainly appear odd.

The professor opened the door right as the bell went and the class filed in. Hermione looked around and realised she didn’t know many students in the admittedly small class, so she chose a seat at the front next to an eager looking boy from Hufflepuff. The teacher, now at the front of the class, had a warm expression as she watched the students choose their seats.

“Welcome,” she said, as the last student sat down, “I am Professor Burbage and I am delighted to have you all in my Muggle Studies class. Over the next couple of years we will learn together about Muggles and their culture so that we can understand them. I hope you will come to see that they are really not too different from ourselves.”

At this there was an outbreak of a soft muttering around the room. Clearly many students found this difficult to believe. Hermione heard a scratching of a quill and realised the boy beside her had already begun to take notes. What was the purpose of taking notes on this? Hermione felt slighted, not used to another student taking more notes than her.

“Now, we are going to start this lesson with a little quiz, nothing graded of course but just something for me to get an idea of your knowledge of Muggles before we begin,” said Professor Burbage. “There’s a parchment on each of your desks. I will set the timer for ten minutes—just answer what you can.”

Hermione turned over the parchment on her desk and looked down at the questions. The first one read:

  1. _What is electricity?_



Hermione smiled to herself and confidently wrote the answers to the questions, finishing well before the timer went off. As she waited, she looked around the room at her classmates, many of whom were staring at the paper in confusion, a few mouthing clearly unfamiliar words. Beside her, she could still hear the frantic scratching of the boy’s quill and felt again that she perhaps that she was missing something and glanced down at her answers. She had crammed as much as she could in the space for the questions, making her writing extra small to fit it. She did not see what else she could add.

As Hermione bent over the page, she felt the time turner pressed against her, underneath her collar. She was suddenly reminded of the fact that in the divination tower, she was currently listening to Trelawney with Harry and Ron _and_ sitting in Muggle Studies two floors below. The thought of this gave her a headache and she looked up at the clock, realising that according to everyone else, she had been in the Great Hall having breakfast less than twenty minutes ago, not over an hour ago as she knew it to be. It felt as though breakfast had been ages ago and Hermione wondered whether the extra time in her day meant she needed to be eating more. Her break between meals could be 5 or 6 hours now, not the usual 2 or 3 hours that her body was accustomed to. Perhaps this was another question for McGonagall. She supposed she could ask her when she saw her again in Transfiguration.

Unfortunately, Hermione’s musings on the time since breakfast had reminded her of the unpleasant encounter she had witnessed between Harry and Malfoy as they had arrived in the Great Hall that morning. Hermione felt another flush of anger, mixed with shame as she recalled how he had briefly fooled her. Really, how could she have ever believed Malfoy would genuinely apologise for his behaviour? This morning was just proof that Malfoy had in no way changed and had simply been attempting to pull some cruel joke to get her in trouble. She resolutely ignored the small part of her brain that reminded her that he had hidden his plan from his friends, deciding that his continued mocking of Harry was a clear sign that he hadn’t meant a word of his ‘apology’.

Hermione was disturbed from her furious thoughts about Malfoy by the ding of a timer. She looked up and realised Professor Burbage had an egg timer on the desk. Many of the students staring at it cautiously. It was clear Professor Burbage noticed this too and she chuckled.

“This is an egg timer. It was traditionally used by Muggles to time eggs when they cooked them to ensure they were cooked correctly—h owever, it is now more widely used as a timer for various activities, despite retaining its original name. Throughout this class, I will encourage each of you to become accustomed to Muggle objects and tools, such as the egg timer, that can serve a purpose we had not considered necessary, due to our natural inclination to cast a spell. For example, I could have easily cast a spell to count down the time, but instead I chose to use the egg timer which really requires the exact same effort. I think that this is an interesting way to observe how Muggles have thrived in a life without magic.”

The class still stared cautiously at the egg timer, though a few looked intrigued at the idea that Muggles may have successful methods of surviving without magic.

“Of course, some things are just easier with magic,” Professor Burbage said with a laugh, as she summoned the quizzes from each student’s desk. “Now, let's go over some of the things in this quiz, shall we? First question—w hat is electricity?”

The Hufflepuff boy shot his hand into the air before Professor Burbage had finished speaking.

Professor Burbage nodded to him. “Yes, Mr…?

“McMillan, Professor. Ernie McMillan. Electricity is like when they put lightning in a bottle and gives them lightning magic and then it zaps things. Right?”

Ernie spoke quickly and with an air of confidence that did not seem congruent with his answer. Hermione smiled to herself, realising that she needn’t have worried about Ernie McMillan’s excessive note-taking. It was clear he understood very little about Muggles.

Professor Burbage smiled encouragingly before kindly correcting his answer and providing an accurate explanation. Hermione jotted down a few notes as the Professor spoke, feeling quietly confident about her newest subject.

\---

The lesson seemed to finish far more quickly than the Divination class she knew to be occurring the same time. As the bell went, Hermione thought about how she was probably complaining about Divination right now as she walked to Transfiguration with Harry and Ron.

Hermione decided she should walk slowly to Transfiguration, taking a route she knew to be longer so as to not bump into herself, Harry and Ron. As she arrived at the corridor, she stopped and peered around the corner to make sure the class was empty. She caught a glimpse of herself for a moment outside the Transfiguration classroom before she disappeared. Hermione felt very odd for a moment, before hurrying down the hall. She really ought to have been careful to travel more subtly. Travelling in the middle of the corridor could have resulted in anyone walking in and seeing her disappear. She hadn’t noticed herself peering around the corridor—what if she failed to notice someone else? She would have to start finding tapestries, alcoves and cupboards around the castle to hide in.

She stepped into the class and quickly hurried to take a seat next to Harry and Ron.

“What were you doing?” Ron asked as she sat down.

“Hm?” Hermione said as she pulled out her Transfiguration book. “Oh, I just had to ask Professor McGonagall a question.”

“Already? Class hasn’t even started!”

“It was from the textbook. I was reading it after we bought it and there were some bits I wanted to clarify.”

Ron sighed in disbelief. “Only you would read the textbook _before_ coming to class.”

“Well really, how can it hurt to get an idea of the course material before the term begins?”

Ron looked ready to retort—probably a criticism about reading too much, as he regularly liked to tell her—but he was stopped as Professor McGonagall began to give her typical beginning of the year speech. As she addressed the class, she caught her eye and Hermione could have sworn she saw her smile.

\---

Hermione made an excuse the moment she, Harry and Ron entered the crowd headed to lunch outside the Transfiguration classroom and, once they were out of sight, ducked into a concealed alcove. She leant against the wall for a moment, allowing herself to rest after her unusual morning. She felt rather than heard her stomach rumble, unable to make out much above the noise of the passing students. Her earlier thoughts about ensuring she ate enough for the extra hours in the day came back and she thought longingly of the lunch that was currently being served in the Great Hall.

The noise of the students was beginning to die down as the corridor emptied and Hermione knew she would have to move soon or risk being found and asked all sorts of awkward questions. Pushing away her thoughts of lunch, she pulled out the time turner and carefully spun it twice. The sensation of being suddenly pulled backwards came over her again; it felt slightly longer this time, though now she knew what to expect, it was not nearly so unpleasant.

Again, the world very suddenly came back into focus. Hermione leant to listen to the corridor outside the tapestry. Pulling it back slightly, she checked to see if the corridor was clear and stepped quickly out of the alcove. She glanced at her watch before remembering that it would display the wrong time. Hermione decided it must be before the lesson and hurried off in the direction of her Arithmancy class.

She arrived at the classroom just before the bell. Her classmates had already entered and taken their seats. She looked around the room for an empty chair and saw one towards the back of the classroom. Her stomach sank as she realised who was sitting at the desk. Of course, of all the seats in the room, it had to be the one next to Malfoy that was empty. She glanced around the room again, before begrudgingly walking over to the table. Malfoy looked up as she approached and a look of surprise briefly crossed his face as she set down her bag. He looked around the room and comprehension dawned on his face.

Hermione pulled her things out of her bag and set them harshly on the desk, dropping each book with a thud that caused Malfoy to glance at her. She was resolutely refusing to look at him. It was bad enough she had to share a desk with him and would probably be stuck here for the rest of the year. She didn’t want to look at him and provide him an opportunity to start teasing her about the prank on the train.

The professor came in and immediately started the lesson, giving an outline of the course and quickly starting the content for the year. The work was a welcome distraction from her thoughts about Malfoy’s plots. It seemed the lesson was keeping Malfoy busy too, as he didn’t say a word to her the entire time. If she just angled her head the right way, she could almost forget he was there.

Towards the end of the lesson, however, she was rudely reminded of his presence by a sharp poke to her arm. She turned to give Malfoy a dirty look before pulling her arm away. A minute later, she Malfoy poked her again. She turned to give him another look but was distracted as she realised what Malfoy had been poking her with. He was holding a piece of parchment out to her and looking at the professor. He was watching her out of the corner of his eye, however, so she huffed and turned her body further away, pulling her arm off the desk to prevent him poking her again. This proved to be ineffective, however, as he instead took the opportunity to reach over and drop the parchment onto the textbook she had open in front of her. Hermione huffed again and made to push the parchment off the desk. She was stopped however, by a hiss from Malfoy.

“Just _read_ it _,_ Granger,” he said, exasperated.

She paused, the parchment an inch from the edge of the desk. His eyes lacked the malevolent glare they usually held. Hermione hesitated a moment longer, but curiosity overcame her. She pulled the parchment back onto her book and unfolded it quickly. Malfoy’s writing was surprisingly neat—the thin letters were written in perfect cursive. The note was short and Hermione furrowed her brow as she read.

_You know, I thought apologising would make you glare at me less, not more._

What part of his prank was this? Was he really that determined to humiliate her? She quickly scrawled a response, her small, cramped font looking oddly messy next to his elegant lettering.

_I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you’re not going to fool me. Just give up, okay?_

Hermione shot the parchment back at him and he faintly smiled, so small and brief she wasn’t sure if she imagined it. Malfoy unfolded the message and read it, his forehead creased. He picked up his quill and held it hovering above the page for a moment as though he was unsure how to respond. Hermione tried to ignore him and turned back to the professor. Her attention was quickly diverted, however, by the parchment landing on her book again. She sighed in annoyance and opened it up. Clearly Malfoy was not going to give up on this joke. The message was very short.

_Fool you?_

Hermione shot an infuriated look at him before writing a response. If only she could get him to end the charade and return to normal. This was unnerving.

_I know you’re pulling some sort of prank. The joke’s up, so leave me be._

Hermione wrote the response so fiercely, she jabbed a hole in the page as she added the full stop. She pushed it back towards Malfoy, still doing her best to avoid looking at him. A moment later, she felt a poke in her arm again and looked to see Malfoy holding out the parchment. She grabbed it and practically ripped it open. There was a far longer message written at the bottom of the sheet.

_I don’t know what you’re talking about but I’m not pulling some prank on you. I think you’ve seriously misunderstood something. Look, just talk to me after this class. Give me a chance to explain. Then you can go back to ignoring me._

Hermione read the message a couple of times, trying to make sense of it. He was probably trying to lure her somewhere else to get her in trouble because he failed the first time. She scrunched the note up and threw it in the bin nearby, refusing to look at Malfoy again.

When the bell rang to signal the end of the lesson, Hermione leapt up and moved towards the door as quickly as she could, still avoiding Malfoy’s stare. She hurried through the crowd, not sure where she was headed. She would have to go somewhere to wait until the end of Transfiguration. A tapestry she knew to conceal a path to the library corridor caught her eye and she stopped, quickly ducking behind it. Hermione paused and beant over, catching her breath. She was disturbed a moment later, however, by the tapestry being pulled aside.

Hermione jumped upright, startled. A sense of dread came over her as she realised Malfoy was looking in at her.

“Oh, for the love of Merlin—what now Malfoy?”

“Sorry Granger, I thought running and hiding in a secret passage meant you desperately wanted to talk to me,” Malfoy said, smirking at her

“Malfoy, whatever you’re planning, I am not playing along. Just stop talking to me!”

“I thought you were smarter than this, Granger. If you really want me to stop talking to you that terribly, then I told you—listen to what I have to say and be done with it.”

“Yeah right, like you’ll just stop everything you’ve been doing if I listen to you.”

“Why must you be so stubborn? Will you just listen to me? Merlin, I didn’t think it would be this difficult to get you to accept an apology,” Malfoy said, clearly annoyed.

“Oh, will you stop with this apology business!” Hermione burst out furiously. “I know you just tried to apologise to me on the train so that I’d get caught holding two wands up to you in the prefects’ compartment.”

“What?” Malfoy said, looking at her like she’d gone mad. “What prefects’ compartment? I gave you my wand so you would trust me, I said that.”

Hermione ignored his question.

“Of course that’s what you said, but I’ve figured out what you were planning so there’s no point in trying to convince me that you’re sorry for anything that happened last year.”

“I _am_ sorry!” Malfoy looked angry now. “Why would I keep trying to talk to you if I weren’t?”

“You’re clearly trying to make up for your failed trick in the prefects’ compartment and—”

“What do you mean prefect’s compartment? I just found an empty compartment near where you were sitting and tried to talk to you as you went past. Why would I go to the prefects’ compartment?”

This caused Hermione to pause. Had Malfoy really not known they were in the prefects’ compartment? If he hadn’t known that, then how had he planned on getting her in trouble? Unless he had really been apologising? But that was ridiculous, he would never apologise to her.

Malfoy apparently took her silence as agreement to hearing his apology and continued to speak.

“Just hear me out. When I said I was sorry I meant it.”

“You didn’t know we were in the prefect’s compartment?” Hermione said slowly.

Malfoy shook his head, his gaze cast down at their feet.

“So you did mean to apologise?”

“That’s what I’ve been try—” he stopped suddenly, changing his tone, “uh, yeah.”

“But then why are you still being horrible?” Hermione said, a distrusting look on her face.

“What do you mean? I haven’t done anything to you. Whatever you think I was planning, you’re wrong, I—”

“No, I’m not talking about me,” Hermione spoke over him. “Even if you were apologising to me-”

“I was—I am,” Malfoy interjected.

“—then why are you still being horrible to my friends?” she continued as if there had been no interruption. “You’ve done nothing but tease Harry ever since we got off the train.”

“What has Potter got to do with any of this?” Draco said, huffing in annoyance.

“I asked you on the train if your apology meant you’d be different. You answered with your stupid impressions after the dementors came.”

“That was about Potter—I’m talking about you. Why are you bringing that up?”

“Because if you were actually sorry then you would be doing something to be better!”

“I am! I’ve apologised, I’ve stopped teasing you—”

“But you’re still the same to everyone else! How can I believe that you really mean what you’re saying if you are still the same to everyone else?”

“Because I’m sorry you were hurt and I’m sorry I wished that upon you, I’m not sorry about Potter! He gets everything--the attention, the fame, the friends—why does he need my apology too?”

“He doesn’t need your apology— _you_ just need to learn how to be a decent person!”

“Yeah, Potter doesn’t need anything. He’s _perfect_.” Malfoy spat out the word as though it disgusted him. “You know he’s not innocent either. He’s done bad things, too.”

“I know that, of course I know that, but he doesn’t go out of his way to make other people miserable like you do!”

“I don’t go out of my way, Potter just happens to present easy opportunities. I’d be stupid not to take them.”

“You’re stupid for thinking I would accept your apology if you’re going to keep teasing my friends! You are just a horrible person who is jealous of Harry. Jealous that he has what you want, that he is the good person you could never be.”

“You know what, Granger? Go tell your boyfriend how perfect he is, I’m done trying to apologise! Screw you!” Malfoy yelled, looking more furious than ever.

He shoved past her, storming out of the passage. Hermione breathed heavily, staring after him. Her brain could hardly process what had just happened. Just moments ago she had been considering accepting his apology and now she felt more anger then she ever had towards him. Did he really expect her to accept his apology while he was causing Harry so much misery? How could he not see that the two were clearly linked? Did he honestly believe she would accept his apology while he was still a bully? And what was with the comment about her boyfriend? Surely he didn’t think Harry was her boyfriend?

Hermione slumped against the wall behind her, feeling as though her first day had lasted a week. All thoughts of studying in the library had gone from her mind. She groaned, placing her head in her hands. Time turners and apologising assholes. When had her life gotten so complicated?


	3. Hippogriffs and Hospital Wings

Hermione managed to work in twenty minutes of distracted study in the library before she heard the rumbling sound of students moving to lunch. She hurriedly packed away her things before racing to meet Harry and Ron for lunch. Neither of the boys seemed to notice anything odd about her brief absence, being too preoccupied by their morning’s Divination lesson. It had seemed to Hermione that the subject lacked precision and she told Ron as much in a dismissive tone. Ignoring Ron’s indignation, she pulled her Arithmancy book from her bag and continued the reading she had been attempting after her conversation with Malfoy.

However, she found it even more difficult to focus now, with Ron’s argument carrying on and the thought of Malfoy returning to her mind. Recalling their confrontation, she felt flustered all over again. How could one person be so infuriating? She couldn’t understand how he thought she would accept an apology if he was still ridiculing Harry—how was she supposed to believe he was genuinely sorry if he kept acting the same? She ignored the small part of her brain that was reminding her that Malfoy apologising had to mean some sort of change.

She absent-mindedly flicked through the pages of the textbook and listened to Ron continuing to press Harry about the Grim. Annoyed with the subject, with Malfoy and now with Ron, Hermione continued her cool criticism of Divination.

“Professor Trewlaney said you didn’t have the right aura! You just don’t like being bad at something for a change!” Ron snapped.

Hermione slammed her Arithmancy book down furiously, not caring about the food it sent flying across the table. She was hardly aware of what she was yelling at Ron as she shoved her book into her bag and stormed out of the Great Hall. She stopped in the Entrance Hall, no idea where she was planning to go. Her stomach rumbled and she realised he had left most of her lunch on the table. Hermione knew that she had snapped at Ron, perhaps more than he had deserved. But he had been ridiculously insistent about this whole Grim business—as though a teacup would really tell Harry he was about to die.

Deciding she may as well try to continue her Arithmancy reading for the third time, Hermione crossed the Entrance Hall and walked out the large doors to the courtyard. Picking a somewhat secluded spot in the corner, Hermione pulled out her book and tried to read. Her usual escape continued to elude her, however—she had barely read three pages when the castle doors opened and students began to walk out to the classes. Hermione drew further into her corner when she saw a familiar blonde head walking out of the castle, flanked by his usual Slytherin cronies. Hermione needn’t have hidden—Malfoy didn’t even cast a glance her way as he crossed the courtyard.

Shortly after, Ron and Harry stepped outside and Harry cast a look around the courtyard, catching sight of her in the corner. He looked at her uncertainly, clearly unsure if he should go up to her. Hermione sighed and, her temper cooled slightly, stood to join Harry and Ron as they walked down to Hagrid’s hut for Care of Magical Creatures. She refused to speak to Ron, however, and their walk across the grounds was silent.

Hagrid was standing out the front of their hut when they arrived and Hermione’s anger was briefly overtaken by curiosity. Hagrid looked eager and called out to the class as they strolled over. He began to lead them in the direction of the forest and Hermione felt a wave of apprehension rush through her, recalling her single expedition into it. Hagrid turned away as they approached and directed them instead towards a paddock near the edge of the trees.

Hagrid called their attention over to him and began to ask them to take out their books. He was interrupted, however, by a familiar irritating drawl. Hagrid looked dismayed as he realised the class hadn’t been able to open their textbooks. Hermione glared furiously at Malfoy, enraged that he was already trying to sabotage Hagrid’s lesson. He appeared to not notice her however, not even looking at her when Hagrid grabbed her book to show the class how to open them.

Hagrid looked down at Hermione, the book held limply in his hands. “I—I thought they were funny,” he said to her quietly.

Behind them, Hermione heard Malfoy continue to comment loudly and sarcastically. Her hands shook with anger as she took her book back from Hagrid. Beside her, she heard Harry hiss at Malfoy to be quiet. Hermione glared at him scathingly, hardly able to control her anger.

Hagrid awkwardly continued the lesson, clearly put off by the interruptions. He addressed them briefly before turning to go get whatever creature they were studying. The moment his back was turned, Malfoy continued his loud complaints. Hermione turned back to him, fuming, but was beat to the punch by Harry.

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

“Careful Potter, there’s a dementor behind you—”

The boy's argument was suddenly interrupted by a gasp from Lavender. The class turned to look at where she was pointing, but Hermione stayed still—glaring at Malfoy and seething with anger. He seemed to sense her stare and turned to look at her, for the briefest moment, he seemed shocked at the furious look on her face. He adjusted his features into a well-practised sneer so quickly that Hermione doubted she had even seen anything out of the ordinary.

She huffed and turned to look at Hagrid with the rest of the class. The sight of the creature beside Hagrid quickly distracted her from her anger. It was an odd beast, half horse and half eagle—Hagrid called them hippogriffs. Most of the class were looking at them warily and, when Hagrid asked if anyone wanted a closer look, Hermione, Ron and Harry were the only ones to approach the fence. Hermione listened intently to what Hagrid was saying, determinedly ignoring the mutterings of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle behind them.

Despite her desire to help Hagrid’s first lesson be a success, Hermione could not will herself to volunteer when Hagrid asked for someone to approach the hippogriff, Buckbeak. There was a moment’s silence and then Harry stepped forward. Hermione watched nervously as Harry approached the hippogriff and slowly bent into a bow. The hippogriff stood regally, not moving so much as a feather. Hermione felt her breathing quicken but could not tear her eyes away as Harry slowly stepped backwards. Then, to her relief, the hippogriff suddenly moved and bent low into an unmistakable bow. Harry stopped, midway through his retreat, a look of enormous relief on his face.

Hermione had thought this would be it, but, quite suddenly, at Hagrid’s urgings, Harry had climbed up on the hippogriff’s back. Hermione gasped loudly as Hagrid slapped the hippogriff’s hindquarters and it flapped its wings, lifting itself and Harry into the sky. The hippogriff looped around the paddock and landed again lightly, Harry looking greatly relieved as he climbed off its back. Harry returned to the class, to great applause from all except the Slytherins and Hagrid instructed them all to divide up and to each carefully approach a hippogriff.

The hippogriffs held themselves with an unmistakable elegance—up close, Hermione found them quite beautiful. She gently patted a chestnut hippogriff and tried to block out the sound of Malfoy’s drawling voice, who was patting Buckbeak next to Hermione and Ron. Her renewed anger at Malfoy had caused her to forget her previous annoyance at Ron. His comments about the textbooks were still ringing in her ears. They may have been a little unorthodox, but they were interesting and Hagrid hadn’t mean any harm. Now they all knew how to use them, they seemed even a little humorous. But of course, Malfoy took the opportunity to attack Hagrid before the lesson even began.

Hermione patted the hippogriff roughly as she recalled the image of Malfoy’s whispered conversations throughout Hagrid’s demonstration. The hippogriff pulled back, snapping its beak and Hermione immediately loosened her grip. Ron jumped backwards and stared cautiously at the Hippogriff.

“Sorry, sorry!” Hermione said quickly.

She rushed back to bow again before patting the hippogriff again. Malfoy’s voice grew louder as she stepped closer to him and she couldn’t help but hear what he was saying.

“—you great ugly brute?”

With a start, she realised he was insulting Buckbeak. Distracted from her own hippogriff, Hermione turned, not sure of what she planned to do, but determined to prevent Malfoy from ruining Hagrid’s lesson. Before she could even move towards him, Buckbeak had reared upwards and, in a swift motion, swiped Malfoy with his sharp talons. Malfoy let out a high-pitched scream and crumpled to the floor. Blood spread quickly over his robes, the deep red contrasting against his skin, which was even paler than it usually was.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Hagrid pull Buckbeak backwards and force him into his collar. She stood rooted in the same spot, unable to move her eyes from Malfoy. He was moaning and yelling, but she barely registered what he was saying. Hagrid ran forwards, looking almost as pale as Malfoy.

Hagrid’s voice broke through her frozen mind as he picked Malfoy up. “Someone help me—gotta get him outta here—”

Hermione’s body sprang back into motion and she raced forward to pull the gate open. Hagrid rushed past her and as he ran through the gate, her eyes connected with Malfoy’s. They were half shut and he was clearly drifting out of consciousness. For a moment, an entirely unfamiliar expression crossed his face as their eyes locked—then his eyes shut and his head lolled back, unconscious.

\---

Somewhere near her, Hermione could hear the Slytherins arguing with the Gryffindors about Hagrid. Pansy shrieked something about Malfoy before running hysterically to the castle. Hermione was irritated by all of them.

“You think he’ll be alright?”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She flushed at Harry’s dismissive answer. Malfoy had done nothing but torment her, yet she could hear the worry in her voice and worse, she recognised a familiar sense of anxiety that she usually felt when watching Harry do something stupid or dangerous—or both.

Ignoring this feeling, she joined in Harry and Ron’s conversation about Hagrid, hoping they would think she was worried about the harm a serious injury would cause for Hagrid. Of course, now that she thought of that, she was struggling to think of a way that Hagrid could come out of this without getting in trouble.

At dinner, Hermione barely noticed the untouched food on the plate in front of her. She knew her face mirrored the fretful expressions Ron and Harry wore and could hardly concentrate on anything beside Hagrid—she certainly wasn’t going to allow herself to dwell on Malfoy.

Her inability to focus continued as Hermione attempted to study in the Gryffindor common room. She kept breaking off to stare out the window at Hagrid’s hut, often catching Ron or Harry doing the same. Eventually she set down her quill, hardly noticing it dripping ink onto her essay. Harry looked across at her and back out the window.

“There’s a light in Hagrid’s window.”

Hermione’s head jerked up to peer out the window. She heard Ron suggesting they hurry, pointing out that it was early. Hermione was looking at Harry nervously, remembering what he had told them Mr Weasley had said about Sirius Black.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly.

Harry had his mind set on visiting Hagrid, however, and so a few minutes later they were hurrying out of the castle and down to Hagrid’s hut. As they walked, Hermoine focused her mind determinedly on Hagrid, blocking out the image of Malfoy falling limp in Hagrid’s arms and the expression that had flitted over his face before he passed out. She needed to know if Hagrid was okay. Whatever she concerns she had about Malfoy she could worry about later.

\---

Harry, Ron and Hermione were silent as they walked up the moving staircases together, having left the fuming Hagrid in the Entrance Hall. His sudden outburst had shaken them unpleasantly and it was clear none of them were willing to be the one who brought it up. As the silence grew longer, Hermione’s whirring thoughts grew closer and closer to the topic she had pushed far into the back of her mind.

Why had she frozen when she saw Buckbeak lunge at Malfoy? She had been telling herself all afternoon she was only feeling apprehension about what would become of Hagrid, yet she now knew Hagrid was okay and she could still feel that gnawing sensation in her gut and—try as she might—she could not get the image of Malfoy face, pale and lifeless, as he had sagged in Hagrid’s arms. The words she had said to Malfoy earlier that day rushed into her mind. Had she been too quick to dismiss him? Was there a possibility he had been genuine? But he had still planned to ruin Hagrid’s lesson. How could he have meant what he said to her and then organised to sabotage Hagrid only hours later?

“Hermione?”

She looked up, surprised to see Ron and Harry several paces in front of her. When had she stopped walking?

“What are you doing?” Ron asked, looking at her curiously.

“I—uh—I just remembered there was a book I needed to get from the library.”

Harry looked confused and stared down at his watch.

“Curfew’s in fifteen minutes—can’t you get it tomorrow?”

“No. I really need it,” she replied, firmly.

Ron gave Harry an exasperated look, who shrugged back at him, before turning to walk to Hermione.

“Alright, if we really hurry—”

“No!”

Harry stopped and stared at her, bemused.

“I mean,” Hermione spoke hurriedly, “there’s no point us all risking curfew. I’ll be fine, I’ll just run there and back and if I see a teacher—well, they’re more likely to let me go than either of you.”

Harry and Ron couldn’t argue with this logic, so they turned back to continue the path up to Gryffindor Tower, leaving Hermione alone in the corridor. She wasn’t entirely sure if she wanted to go through with her half-formed plan. In all honesty, there was a book she desperately wanted to borrow from the library—she still was curious to learn more about the dementors—however, she could have done that with Ron and Harry. But she needed to see Malfoy too. She needed to understand why she felt guilty—she didn’t want to feel guilty anymore.

Hagrid had said he was still in the Hospital Wing. Without really noticing, she had begun to walk in the direction of the library, her plan sharpening in her mind as she did so. She walked quickly, almost running, and made it to the library ten minutes before curfew. A few younger students running out of the library as she walked in shot her odd looks as she hurried into the library. She ignored them however, and likewise disregarded the few older students who were still in the library, as they had a later curfew. Hermione paused at the entrance, unsure which aisle to go to. The dementor seemed like some kind of creature, but it had a cruelty about it that made her think of dark magic. Deciding quickly, she rushed passed the magizoology aisle and instead turned to the one labelled Defence Against the Dark Arts. She checked her watch, before remembering that the time was still reading wrong after her time travel. Hermione glanced along the shelves and began pulling out random books, flicking through the contents page and hoping one would list dementors. The word finally jumped out at her from a book titled Confronting the Faceless.

Book in hand, she hurried to Madam Pince’s desk, hardly listening to the librarian’s warnings about curfew. She made to walk towards the library exit, carefully watching the librarian out of the corner of her eye. Once Madam Pince’s back was turned, filing books in a shelf behind her, Hermione darted to the side and stood in front of a portrait concealed by shelves. None of the students in the library could see her here and she quickly stepped forward to the portrait, thinking how grateful she was that Harry had made friends with it early in their second year. She leaned close and whispered the password Harry had told her, then ducked behind the portrait as it swung forward to reveal a passage inside.

Hermione hurried down the length of the passage and arrived quickly in the corridor that connected to the Hospital Wing. At the door to the Hospital Wing, she stopped to press her ear against it to listen for the sound of Madam Pomfrey looking after patients. Unable to hear anything, Hermione chanced her luck and, her book held tightly in her hand, pushed the door open. She surveyed the room as she stepped inside, excuse on the tip of her tongue, ready to tell Madam Pomfrey that she was only there to give Malfoy the work he missed in the rest of the lesson.

Thankfully, however, the room was empty—well, empty except for one bed. The curtains hadn’t been pulled across and she could see Malfoy, apparently asleep, his blonde hair gleaming in the moonlight shining through the window. Hermione approached the bed slowly, suddenly aware of the absurdity of the situation she was in and—for the first time in her life—unsure of what to do.

She reached the bed and saw that Malfoy was asleep. She didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed. The covers were pulled up to his chin and, in his deep sleep, he seemed like a different person—younger and innocent—almost irreconcilable to the boy she had seen sneering at Hagrid and Buckbeak earlier that day. Feeling more confused than ever, Hermione thought she should leave—there was nothing she could do here while Malfoy was sleeping. Just as she had made up her mind however, Malfoy shifted in his sleep and rolled to his side. As he did so, the covers shifted down his arm, pulling his bandage down slightly with it. Hermione gasped as she caught sight of the deep scars in his arm, only partially healed by Madam Pomfrey’s spells and potions.

She clapped a hand over mouth, hoping the sound hadn’t woken Malfoy. But she realised hers hadn’t been the only gasp. Malfoy had breathed in quickly as he rolled, the shifting bandages clearly aggravating his injury. Hermione turned quickly towards the door, suddenly desperate to get out, hoping he wouldn’t wake up and ask her why she was there. she had almost reached the door when she heard a groggy voice call softly from behind her.

“Granger?”

Hermione froze, hand just above the door handle. She could leave. She could leave and he would probably fall back asleep, assume it was a dream. But she couldn’t. she needed to know why she felt guilty—needed to finish the conversation she had cut short before. She needed to understand.

Slowly, she turned around and walked back towards Malfoy’s bed. He looked up at her, not even concealing his surprise. It felt odd to see the expression on his face and Hermione became aware that she had rarely seen any emotion cross his usually guarded features.

She stopped at the foot of his bed. She hadn’t thought past getting to the Hospital Wing. Somewhere in her mind she had combined getting to the Hospital Wing with getting answers to the hundreds of questions swirling in her head, but here she was, avoiding looking at Malfoy and feeling like she had a hundred more questions than before. Hermione could feel the silence stretching between them but her mind was blank and she stared around the room, trying desperately to think of something to say.

“What—why are you here?” The sentence had suddenly burst from Malfoy, sounding as confused as she felt.

She hesitated, hoping an answer would come to her. Unable to think of a reason, Hermione looked down at the book in her hands and held it out for Malfoy.

“The work you missed. I—I said I’d bring the rest of the lesson’s work. This book will help.” Hermione’s voice sounded high-pitched, even to her own ears.

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed.

“Hagrid took me to the Hospital Wing. How did you do any more work without a teacher?”

“It’s just the reading,” she spoke hurriedly, wishing she had never come.

“That’s not our textbook,” Malfoy said flatly.

“Well I didn’t think Madam Pomfrey would let the other book in.”

“Why did you come now then? It’s past curfew, couldn’t you have come earlier? Or tomorrow morning? Surely you weren’t asked to come at this time.”

“I—no—but I was busy”

“How come you are bringing my work? Why not a Slytherin?”

“I don’t know,” she groaned, wanting more than ever to leave.

Malfoy paused, studying Hermione so carefully that she couldn’t look at him anymore, dropping her gaze to her feet instead.

“Why are you here?” Malfoy’s tone was quieter now, as though their conversation had suddenly become full of secrets.

Hermione continued to stare at her feet, willing them to move and to carry her out the door. They refused resolutely and she slowly lifted her head to look at Malfoy, who was watching her expectantly.

“Why?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. She cleared her throat and tried to speak again. “Why did you apologise?”

Malfoy didn’t look surprised—it was as though he had been waiting for her to ask.

“I told you. I wanted to clear my conscience.”

“Is it clear now?” The question had slipped out of her lips before it had even fully formed in her mind.

Malfoy hesitated before answering, apparently weighing the question.

“I don’t know. Have you accepted my apology?”

“Is it really an apology if you haven’t changed?” It seemed she had lost all control of what she was saying, words tumbling out and falling before them.

“I have changed, Granger, can’t you see that? I have. I _apologised_. I apologised to _you_. Isn’t that change? How much more do you want from me?”

Malfoy huffed and tried to position himself so that he could look away from her. As he tried to move his arm, Hermione saw him wince and he slumped against his pillows. Hermione rushed forwards, grabbing a pillow from the bed next to Malfoy as she did. She placed the pillow carefully on the bed indicated for him to lift his arm to rest on it.

“Is that more comfortable?”

“Um—yeah. Thanks,” he mumbled.

She sat on the bed opposite Malfoy and rested her chin in her hands, staring at him.

“I hadn’t thought about it that way. I hadn’t thought about what it meant for you to apologise to me.”

“Yeah, clearly,” he said, sourly.

“I shouldn’t have said it was a joke.”

Malfoy stopped pouting for a moment and looked over at her.

“So you believe me now?”

“Yes.”

“And—do you forgive me?”

She hesitated briefly.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

The words were spoken so quickly that Hermione almost missed them. It seemed as though his lips hardly opened to let the words out.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, an unfamiliar politeness in her voice.

Silence fell between them again, but it was not as uncomfortable as it had been before. After a moment, Hermione broke it, unable to quieten the questions still in her mind.

“I still don’t understand,” she began, delicately, “how you are really sorry about what happened to me last year, but you still are mean to my friends.”

“Why do they have to be connected? I really am sorry about what I said about you last year but why do I have to also be sorry that Potter and Weasley are idiots?” he responded defensively.

“They’re not idiots. And this is what I mean—you say you’re sorry and then you insult my friends. That’s still hurtful.”

“Come off it, Potter and Weasley can’t even hear that insult, how are they getting hurt by it?” Malfoy said, incredulous.

“I don’t mean hurtful to them—I mean hurtful to me.” Hermione said her reply slowly, thoughts connecting in her mind as she spoke.

“It really upsets you if I say stuff about Potter and Weasley?”

“Yes—and about Hagrid too. I’m still upset that you ruined his lesson.”

“That’s entirely different! How does that affect you?”

“Hagrid is my friend and you’ve ruined probably the best opportunity he has ever been given!”

“Yeah well it didn’t work out too great for me either,” Malfoy said grumpily, gesturing at his arm.

“I’m not saying you deserved that. I’m just saying it’s hard to believe you when you still act like that to my friends.”

“But my opinion of your friends hasn’t changed. Potter is still a fame-loving moron and Weasley is still the same idiotic sidekick. As for Hagrid, whoever thought it would be a good idea to name him a teacher—”

“Stop! Can’t you hear yourself? Can’t you hear how horrible you sound? Those are my friends!”

“I said I’m sorry that I thought you should be petrified because you were Muggle-born. My problems with Potter, Weasley and that oaf, Hagrid have nothing to do with blood.”

“But you think you’re better than them because of your blood.”

“Anyone with an ounce of sophistication is better than them.”

“You don’t even know them!”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because if you did you would know that Harry hates all the fame and attention he gets and that Ron is an incredibly loyal friend and that Hagrid knows enough about magical creatures to teach anyone about them.”

“Why do you care what I think of your friends?”

“Because I hate you criticising them.”

“But I’m not criticising you.”

“Criticising my friends is like criticising me.”

Malfoy halted, looking at her, a confused expression on his face.

“Do you really care about them that much?”

“Yes.” Her answer was resolute, spoken almost before Malfoy had finished his question. Her readiness to answer seemed to shock him.

“I’ve never had friends like that,” Malfoy said softly, almost to himself.

“It’s nice,” Hermione said quietly, “It’s nice to have people to trust. People to rely on.”

Malfoy looked at her curiously. It seemed as though he was about to say something, then cut himself off before the words came out. Hermione was scared to ask what his question might have been. He looked away from her, apparently lost in thought.

“Malfoy?” she said, tentatively. He looked over at her and she continued. “Can I ask something of you?”

He nodded slowly.

“Will you try to see them the way I do?”

Malfoy looked away from Hermione again, concentration written across his face as he thought.

“Will you forgive me either way?” He spoke into the room, still not looking at her.

Hermione hesitated, but she knew the answer.

“Yes. I believe you.” It was the answer to the unasked question that hung at the end of his words.

“Okay then. I’ll try.”

“Thank you.” She stood up to leave.

“But Granger.” Malfoy spoke again and she paused on her way to the door, turning back to him.

“This isn’t easy for me,” he said, the words barely a strained whisper. “There are certain things that are expected of me. Sometimes the things I’m thinking—I can’t say them out loud. Or show them.”

Hermione nodded at him, unsure if he could even see her in the dark shadows of the room. Truth be told, she didn’t know if she wanted to agree to those terms—but the questions his statement had raised were too much for her to try to consider tonight. She would worry about them tomorrow. For now, she raised a hand at him and then silently stepped out of the Hospital Wing doors.


	4. A Hazy Potions Lesson

A soft click told Draco the door had shut. Granger had left without responding and the darkness made it impossible to read her expression. He hadn’t meant that last bit to sound the way it had. They’d actually managed to have a conversation without either of them storming off and he just had to jump in and ruin it. Not only did he look like a twat, but he had revealed a part of himself that he had spent his whole life hiding to a person he wasn’t even sure trusted him. What if she ran off and told Potter and Weasley? Those two had the subtlety of mountain trolls—his secret would be out within a day.

Even as the panic inside Draco mounted, there was a part of him that doubted Hermione would betray his trust. He had spent his whole life ignoring his instincts, trusting what he was told and letting others guide his decisions. For some reason, the logical response had not occurred to him when speaking to Granger. He longed to trust someone, just enough for them to know him. And if Hermione wasn’t trustworthy, then at least she was a Gryffindor—chivalrous to the end. Surely that would give room for some decent behaviour.

Perhaps Draco was overreacting—if Hermione could be trusted, at least for now, then maybe it was okay that he’d let that slip out. Draco thought back over his words. ‘ _Sometimes the things I’m thinking—I can’t say them out loud.’_ He _did_ sound like a twat—like he was making up a pathetic excuse for not standing for what he believed. Acting on these thoughts, however, would bring a number of dangers. He wasn’t even certain he knew what he believed—he couldn’t risk everything for an uncertainty.

If he were to speak out, his house would certainly disown him. His friends would abandon him. His parents...he could never quite figure them out. He knew what they wanted for him—to be a nice pureblood boy, succeed academically and socially, and to operate under the safety of their blood status. But if he were to reject that? He knew they loved him and that his decisions wouldn’t change that, but he had learnt to play the pureblood part from them. Would they be good enough actors that they could convince everyone they no longer loved their son? A small, secret part of him hoped that they would reveal they had the same troubled thoughts, but it was far closer to a wish than reality. He knew his parents would die for him, but would they betray their blood status?

None of his friends ever seemed to struggle with the same things he did. No thought to stray from what they were told ever seemed to enter their minds. Draco knew he presented himself to appear the same—he supposed he could only guess what they were truly thinking. Vincent and Greg never seemed to think twice about emulating the pureblood mantra they had all had drilled into them since birth. Purebloods first, mudbloods and half-breeds be damned. They had been to visit him in the Hospital Wing after dinner and the two had spent most of the time guffawing and plotting to get Hagrid expelled, or telling him how this would win sympathy points with Pansy, who they were convinced had a crush on him. They may have been right, he thought now, recalling Pansy running into the Hospital Wing right after he’d been brought there. She’d been shooed out by Madam Pomphrey almost immediately and he had only been able to make himself look slightly disappointed to see her go. Perhaps other friends would have noticed his prolonged silences or his unwillingness to join in their plot, but Vincent and Greg noticed little except what they were told. It was beneficial to have friends denser than dragonscales when most of your life is a charade.

Draco turned to check the clock on his bedside table, wincing at the pain that shot through his arm as he shifted its position. Realising it was well past one, he groaned. He needed to sleep soon or he’d end up with Pomphrey insisting he spends another day resting. He laid back down and before long he had drifted into a restless sleep.

\---

When Draco woke, the sun was streaming through the open curtains in the hospital wing. He turned to look at the clock beside him to see it was well past nine. He shot up and let out a cry of pain as his arm protested at the sudden movement. Pomfrey came running out of her office and immediately began fussing over him.

“Why didn’t you wake me? I’m late to class!” Draco said furiously, attempting to push Madam Pomfrey away and reach his robes.

“Sit down, sit down,” she said, pushing him back onto the bed, “You needed rest and you can’t go anywhere until I’ve checked you over. Frankly, I don’t know if you should be going to class at all with your arm like this.”

“No, no, I have to go! I’m fine, it barely hurts!” Draco said frantically, thinking about the work he would have to catch up on if he missed a whole day of class.

“Now really, calm down Mr. Malfoy! You can go to class if you insist but you will need to wear a sling—”

“I don’t want—”

“—and will need to come and see me again at the end of the day to check on it. Do you understand?” Madam Pomfrey continued over Draco’s protests.

Draco sighed. “Yes, whatever, I’ll wear the cast and come back after class. Can I go now?”

“In a minute, Mr. Malfoy. I still need to finish checking over you and you need to take your medicine.”

After several more minutes of Madam Pomfrey fussing over his arm and adjusting his sling, Draco quickly swallowed the potions she had brought out for him, threw on his robes and ran out of the hospital wing. He slowed when he neared the potions classroom, not wanting to appear out of breath when he arrived. It would not do to appear dishevelled, no matter how much he was worried about not having enough time to finish his potion.

He was accosted by Pansy as soon as he opened the door—perhaps Crabbe and Goyle’s theory about her crush was right. He brushed off her questions about his arm, attempting to get to his desk so he could start the potion. Looking over at Crabbe and Goyle, he saw they were clearly thinking the same thing about Pansy and made a face halfway between a grimace and a smile, unsure if the situation was laughable or just pathetic.

Thankfully, Snape called for the class to settle down and Draco made his way over to his desk and began to set up his cauldron. He tried to ignore the Potter and Weasley scowling at him. What was their problem anyway? He was the one who had to set up his cauldron with one hand. Come to think of it, how was he supposed to do this potion with just one hand? He looked up at the board at the front of the room, where the instructions for the potion were written. He didn’t need to read past the first line to know he would not be able to do it on his own.

Deciding it was his only option, Draco called out to Snape to ask for help with cutting up his daisy roots. He hated not being able to do it himself and rely on someone else to do part of _his_ potion, but maybe if Snape cut them, his potion would still turn out at its usual high standard, even if he had to do it one handed.

“Weasley, cut up Malfoy’s roots for him.”

Malfoy’s head whipped around to stare at Snape, who hadn’t even looked up to notice the effect his instruction had. Potter and Weasley were both staring at him, neither attempting to hide their fury.

“There’s nothing wrong with your arm,” Weasley hissed.

Draco could see Granger watching the situation unfold nervously, a few cauldrons away. His promise to her last night swam back into his mind. Trying to be civil, he attempted to smile at Potter and Weasley, ignoring the jibe. They only deepened their scowls. Abandoning the attempt, Draco shoved his roots over to Weasley, deciding to minimise the amount they’d have to speak to each other—at least if they didn’t speak, they wouldn’t argue.

“Weasley, you heard Professor Snape; cut up these roots,” Draco said tiredly.

He noticed as he pushed his roots over that Ron’s roots were cut up incredibly neatly. Well, apparently he wasn’t completely useless. If he just cut up Draco’s the same then hopefully he could manage the rest on his own. Before he could even finish the thought, however, Weasley had begun chopping the roots furiously, making them uneven and almost entirely destroyed. Draco cried out in protest—this was the reason he didn’t want anyone else working on his potion!

“Professor, Weasley’s mutilating my roots, sir.” Draco’s voice came out not nearly as indignant as he felt. His brain felt fuzzy and he was sure it was the effect of Madam Pomfrey’s potions. At least Snape would cut up his roots instead now.

“Change root’s with Malfoy, Weasley,” Snape instructed.

Draco almost joined in Potter and Weasley’s complaints, but managed to retrain himself. Why was Snape not just helping him? At least he had decent roots now—it was Weasley’s own fault that the roots were mutilated. Draco couldn’t see why Snape wouldn’t just get out some more roots. It’s not as though daisy roots are a precious ingredient. He was trying to see Granger’s point of view here but it was hard to see the friends she described when they were both scowling at him. Attempting to ignore both of them, Draco read the next instruction and began to groan. He quickly changed the sound into a sentence when Snape looked down at him.

“And sir, I’ll need this shrivelfig skinned.”

He willed Snape to do it himself, but before he could request as much, Snape had asked Potter to skin it. Thankfully Potter seemed to be taking the same approach as himself and did it all without speaking. Draco decided to try and make a last ditch attempt at having one civil interaction with Potter and Weasley. He smiled across at them again, trying to look polite.

“Seen your pal Hagrid lately?” Draco said softly, hoping Snape wouldn’t notice and come back over to find a way to cause them to be even more furious at him.

Draco figured they would be happy to talk about their friend and Granger had said to give Hagrid a chance too. Surely they could have a civil conversation about Hagrid.

“None of your business,” Ron snarled.

Apparently not. Draco’s mind was growing fuzzier by the minute, but he was determined to finish this conversation.

“I’m afraid he won’t be a teacher much longer.”

That hadn’t come out right. What was in those potions Pomfrey gave him? He was just trying to express concern over what the reaction to Hagrid’s lesson would be. His father certainly wasn’t happy about it. Yes, he would explain that to them.

“Father’s not very happy about my injury—”

“Keep talking, Malfoy, and I’ll give you a real injury.”

What? That didn’t make sense. Why didn’t they agree with him? His mouth seemed to be running without his permission now and he was faintly aware of himself saying something about the governors and his injured arm. He needed to explain that the potions from Madam Pomfrey were muddling his mind. But the fumes from the potions being brewed had surrounded him, making it even harder to pay attention. Somewhere, he could hear Potter speaking, as though from a distance. He could make out that he was saying something about Hagrid and benefits—he’d finally understood what Draco was trying to say!

Malfoy took a deep breath, trying to somewhat regain control of his mind before replying to Potter.

“Well,” he said, surprised that his voice was so quiet, “partly, but there are other benefits.”

There, now they would understand that he was trying to get along with them. Maybe they’ll even help with his potion. Draco pushed his ingredients over.

“Weasley, slice my caterpillars for me.”

Somewhere nearby, Draco could hear Snape criticising someone’s potion. He had nothing to do while Weasley was slicing his caterpillars so he stepped out of the potions classroom for a moment. The effect was almost instantaneous. His mind seemed to clear and the drowsiness he had felt just faded away. He looked down at his hands and realised that he was still holding his potions book. Opening it up, he looked through until he found the potion they were making today. There at the top, listed under safety instructions, it was clearly written:

 _Avoid fumes produced in step 3, as these can cause drowsiness and nausea_.

Draco slapped his hand to his face. Why hadn’t he read this at the beginning? Snape probably went over it at the beginning of the class, but of course, Draco had been caught up in the hospital wing. So it hadn’t been Pomfrey’s potions making him so dopey, it had been the fumes coming from his potion. Of course, Weasley and Potter hadn’t thought to warn him of this. He could hear Snape had moved on from whoever he was criticising and Draco was sure his favour with the professor would not extend to him leaving without permission in the middle of class. Draco slipped back in through the door and sat down again, careful to avoid the fumes rising from the potion this time.

He read through the rest of the instructions on the board and was thankful to see that, not only would the fumes disappear in a couple of steps, but that he would also be able to finish the rest of the potion without help. He began to busy himself with his potion and zoned out from what was happening around him. This was his favourite part of potions—when he was able to concentrate on nothing but the potion in front of him and could focus until he had made the perfect concoction. The rest of the world and his thoughts would fade, just for a moment, and all he would think about was the potion. Unfortunately, this only lasted a few minutes before another conversation nearby broke through his focus and caught his attention.

“—they reckon Sirius Black has been sighted.”

Now _this_ was interesting. He recalled what his father had told him about Black just before he had started school. His father hadn’t wanted to worry him, but Malfoys are never unprepared so, a few days before term started, Father had called him into his office.

“Shut the door Draco. I have something very important to talk to you about.”

Draco had shut the door and sat down in front of his father’s desk, eagerly awaiting what his father would share with him. This was sure to be an interesting secret if his father was taking such measures to make sure they weren’t overheard.

“Draco, your mother was unsure whether I should share this with you, but we have agreed it is best for you to go to school aware of any danger you may be in.”

Danger? Draco’s forehead creased—this isn’t what he had expected.

“You are aware Sirius Black has escaped from jail. What I have the privilege of knowing is that Black was a close friend of the Potters’.” He had held his hand up as Draco made a noise, as if to interrupt, and continued. “Black told the Dark Lord how to find the Potters and kill them. The Ministry suspects that he has escaped to kill Potter, believing this will bring the Dark Lord back. I do not know the logic behind this—I would be inclined to believe that Azkaban has addled his mind.” His father paused for a moment, looking as though he was choosing his next words carefully. “He is hell-bent on killing Potter and whilst I believe that your blood and our allegiance to the Dark Lord would protect you he may not recognise this in his deranged state. I am only telling you this so that, if Black is to enter the castle, you do not in any way attempt to interact with him. Let him do whatever he needs to do and stay out of his way.”

Draco had nodded, a little shell-shocked at the revelation. After a moment he looked back up at his father curiously.

“Why would I be in any danger?”

“I have already explained it, Draco,” his father had said sharply, “no more questions.”

Draco had left the room, puzzling about what his father had said and wondering if there was something he had left out.

Now Draco stared across at Harry as his classmates talked about Black. Did Potter know this? That Black was coming after him? That Black had betrayed his parents? Surely he would—Potter had the right to know something like that.

“What, Malfoy? Need something else skinned?”

Ron had noticed him watching them intently. Draco didn’t take his eyes off Potter, trying to read his expression to see if it revealed what he knew.

“Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?” he asked, hoping the answer would indicate what he knew.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Potter spoke casually, clearly not giving merit to the question. He considered leaving it there, letting Potter figure it out on his own, but again, his promise to Granger forced its way into his mind. The decent thing to do was to warn a bloke when a madman is chasing him.

“Of course if it was me, I’d have done something before now. I wouldn’t be staying in school like a good boy, I’d be out there looking for him.” Draco lowered his voice, hoping only Potter would hear—no one else needed to hear him tipping off the boy who lived. Unfortunately, Weasley still stood between them and if the way he was glaring at Draco was any indication, he found Draco as trustworthy as a gambler with leprechaun gold.

His thoughts were almost immediately confirmed by Weasley harshly interrupting.

“What are you talking about, Malfoy?”

Draco looked from Weasley to Potter. Had Potter not shared Black’s true intentions and cruellest crime with Weasley, or did he really not know? The look of confused irritation on Weasley’s face was mirrored by Potter. Draco narrowed his eyes at him, trying to decipher if this was an act or if Potter had really not been told.

“Don’t you _know_ , Potter?” Draco’s tone reflected only a fraction of his own incredulity.

“Know what?”

Maybe he really did know nothing. But why would the Ministry have left him clueless? Surely it was the right thing to warn him of any possible dangers. Draco shot a look around the room, aware that neither Potter nor Weasley had followed his lead in keeping the conversation private. Their voices carried across the classroom and had caught the attention of a few of the nearby students, who were sneaking poorly concealed looks at them—this would only make the conversation more difficult. He couldn’t outright help Potter in the middle of potions, with half the class listening in. He’d receive a howler from his father by lunch and would probably be rushed to the hospital wing by concerned Slytherins. Realising he was left with no options, Draco resigned himself to his well-practised sneer.

“Maybe you’d rather not risk your neck. Want to leave it to the dementors, do you? But if it was me, I’d want revenge. I’d hunt him down myself.”

Surely that was enough for Potter to at least ask someone the right questions, even if he couldn’t put it together himself.

“ _What are you talking about?_ ”

Draco sighed—Potter could be incredibly thick. He had not included himself on the list of people Potter could go to with his questions. Thankfully, Draco was saved from his attempt to evade Potter’s question by Snape reminding them to finish up their potions. He could hear Potter and Weasley whispering furiously beside him but it seemed they had caught on to the fact that Draco wasn’t going to let on any more then he already had. Hopefully they were planning to find someone to demand information from, or at least to tell Granger—she had the brains to figure out what his cryptic message meant.

At the end of the lesson, Snape called them to observe Longbottom’s potion being tested—that must have been who Snape was berating when Draco stepped out. He could have guessed—it’s rare for Snape to get through a class without yelling at Longbottom. The show was, unfortunately, not remotely satisfying. The toad was transformed to a tadpole and then returned to its original form. Granger, however, was docked five points from Gryffindor for apparently helping him. Draco felt a surge of odd emotions he couldn’t quite place—after a moment he realised he was annoyed—annoyed at _Snape_. That wasn’t something he had experienced before—Snape was someone he admired. But there was something that felt strangely wrong about Snape docking points from Hermione.

Draco couldn’t place his finger on what that was, or why he cared.

\---

Draco called out his thanks to Professor Snape for allowing him to remain late and finish his potion as he shut the heavy door behind him. He was decently satisfied with his final result, thought it wasn’t up to his usual standard.

“Malfoy!”

He stopped, recognising the hissed voice that was quickly becoming familiar. Granger was standing in the doorway of a nearby dungeon classroom, staring at him.

“Hi Granger, what are—”

“Shut it, Malfoy.”

Draco stopped, halfway across the dungeon corridor. Granger was glowering at him, her arms folded across her chest.

“What—”

“I said shut it. What is your problem? I thought we’d reached an agreement last night. I said I believed you and you seemed determined to make me believe you, then you go and do this today? At the first possible opportunity? I said give them a _chance_ and you couldn’t even do that. You couldn’t even pretend to try for one hour. One bloody hour, Malfoy. Merlin, what is wrong with you? I don’t even know why—”

“Woah—slow down, Granger. What in the name of Salazar are you on about?” Malfoy stepped towards her again, utterly perplexed by her tirade.

“Just quit acting—just for one conversation, can you stop with the games?” Granger said, sighing furiously.

“What games? I’m not acting, I really am lost here—what are you talking about?”

“Today!” she cried out. “Just then, in potions! I said last night, can you at least try to see them differently and you said you would! You said you understood that I couldn’t accept any apology if you weren’t going to understand that and you said you would try! And you didn’t—you didn’t try at all.”

“What do you mean I didn’t try? I spent that whole lesson trying to get along with them. Maybe _you_ ought to be looking at them from my perspective.”

“Your perspective?” she said, derisively. “And what’s that supposed to be?”

“I sent the whole lesson trying to be civil and they spent the whole time insulting me!”

“Civil? You started it!”

“What are you on about?”

“With the whole ‘oh I can’t do my own potions’ act—what was that about?”

“You think I put that on? You honestly think I would rather let Potter and Weasley screw up my potion than do it myself? I was trying to get Snape to help me and he kept roping in Potter and Weasley.”

Granger paused and surveyed him cautiously, apparently searching for more ammunition.

“Well then why did you keep taunting them?” she shot back at him, her ferocity returning.

“Taunting them?” Draco tried to recall their conversation, but so much of it had been lost in the foggy potion.

“With the stuff about Hagrid and Black!”

Draco looked down at his feet. He hadn’t realised she had overheard the conversation about Black. He couldn’t deny that hadn’t sounded like an effort at civility—but he had been trying to tip them off. How could he explain that to her? He can’t just outright tell her—where would she say she had gotten the information from?

“See! you’re not even denying it! I believed you when you said you wouldn’t be so mean and I even believed you hadn’t meant to ruin Hagrid’s lesson. Clearly that’s a lie if you’re trying to get him fired now.”

“Fired?” asked Draco incredulously. “When did I say that?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not, Granger,” Draco said sincerely. “I can barely remember that conversation.”

Hermione scoffed.

“No, I’m serious. I missed the warnings about the fumes from the cauldron and was barely conscious for half the class. I thought it was Pomfrey’s potions at first but then I saw the note in the instructions.”

This caught Granger by surprise. Draco thought she looked concerned for a moment, before she rearranged her features into a hard, unreadable expression.

“You’re saying you don’t remember the conversation?”

“I remember bits of it. But I wasn’t trying to say I wanted Hagrid fired. I was trying to be polite by asking how he was and then I thought I should warn them that my father might get angry about it.” Draco stared at Hermione, rubbing his neck uncomfortably. “I’m guessing that’s not what came out though, was it?”

A hint of a smile flashed across Hermione’s face and Draco felt relief wash over him—she wasn’t mad anymore.

“Ah, no—not exactly. It sounded like you were threatening to have him fired. But if you were high on potion fumes, who can blame you,” Hermione said, matter-of-factly.

It took Draco a moment to realise she was joking. He stared at her, shocked, before bursting into laughter. The sound seemed to surprise her and they were soon both chuckling at his misfortune.

“High on potions fumes” said Draco between wheezes, “that is never something I thought I would hear you say.”

“Well it’s the easiest definition. Honestly, how did you miss the warning?”

“I was late! Blame Pomfrey and her fussing.”

“Still, it was in the book,” she said with a smirk.

“I hardly check the book—Snape’s instructions are always better anyway.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Maybe check the safety instructions in the book next time or who knows who you’ll offend.”

“Alright, alright—I’ll give them a go.”

Hermione shook her head at him, but he could see a small smile playing across her lips as she glanced down at her watch. Her brow crinkled and when she looked back up at him, she seemed slightly distracted.

“I ought to go now. I’ll see you round Malfoy,” she said and pushed past him, turning around the corner and out of sight.

Draco stood in the entrance to the dungeon classroom, puzzled by her sudden dismissal. He was grateful that whatever distracted her had prevented her from circling back to her original question. He did not want to have to explain his cryptic warnings about Sirius Black. It had been risky enough dropping the small hints that he did. Draco hitched his bag onto his shoulder and turned to walk down the same hall Granger had walked down. He paused as he stepped around the corner, staring at the empty corridor—Granger was nowhere to be seen. She must have been in a hurry to reach wherever she had remembered she needed to be. How else could he explain her disappearing into thin air?


	5. Riddikulus

_“It’s amazing that relationships can form and last under the constraints of never fully knowing. Never knowing for sure what the other person is thinking. Never knowing for sure who a person is.”_

_Iain Reid_

Hermione shoved the time turned inside her robes, taking a cursory look up and down the hall to ensure it was empty. She had no clue what the time was, her watch having become entirely unreliable—she really ought to check with McGonagall about that. Deciding it could wait until she had a break, Hermione pushed all thoughts of her watch to the back of her mind and turned in the direction of her Muggle Studies Class.

The next hour passed uneventfully. They spent the lesson on differences between Muggle and wizarding technologies, which, though mildly interesting, Hermione struggled to concentrate on. Her mind kept drifting back to the conversation with Draco in the dungeon corridor (or was it drifting forward? No, that didn’t make sense). She felt slightly embarrassed about how much she had berated him before he could explain himself. It did look bad though—at least he didn’t seem to be holding it against her. That was a little surprising in itself—she had entirely embarrassed herself in front of Draco Malfoy and he had laughed with her about it and brushed it off. That seemed irreconcilable with the Malfoy she knew, but she supposed most of their recent conversations were difficult to match to the person she had disliked for two years. He seemed to be looking at her and her friends with fresh eyes—so why shouldn’t she do the same? The Draco she had spoken to this year was someone she may even consider a friend.

The thought came across her mind so casually that it shocked her. Was he her friend? Surely not. Imagine what Ron and Harry would think if they heard she was thinking that. But maybe there was a chance that this new Malfoy could be her friend. It would only be fair for her to give it a try, wouldn’t it?

“Miss Granger?”

Hermione’s head snapped up and she realised she hadn’t been paying attention. Professor Burbage was staring at her expectantly. Hermione flushed.

“Sorry, can you repeat the question?” she asked quietly.

Ernie Macmillan snickered beside her. Professor Burbage shot him a reproachful look.

“Yes of course, there were a lot of our new terms in it—it is completely understandable for you to ask to hear it again.

With these new technologies—vehicles, machines, computers—how do you think Muggle efficiency would compare to a wizard’s?”

Hermione pondered the question for a moment, trying to compare her life at home to her one at Hogwarts.

“I suppose in some ways, magic can obviously improve efficiency—we can be working on multiple projects at once, or set something to be done magically—but Muggles have found a way to do that too, right? Like you said with machines and computers, a lot of work is being done that Muggles used to have to do personally. That’s their way of multitasking on a large scale without magical assistance.”

Professor Burbage nodded approvingly.

“Well said, Miss Granger. 5 points to Gryffindor.”

Hermione beamed at her and pretended not to notice Ernie’s irritated expression.

\---

Hermione left her Muggle Studies class in high spirits. She had planned to wait in the library until she caught up to herself again, but at the last minute remembered her watch. Hoping there was a chance McGonagall may not have a class, Hermione changed direction and walked to the Transfiguration classroom. She peeked in the open door when she arrived and was relieved to see the classroom was empty of students. Hermione knocked tentatively on the door. Professor McGonagall looked up from her desk and ushered Hermione into the room.

“How can I help you, Miss Granger?”

“Hello Professor. Sorry to interrupt, I just had a break until I caught up to where I travelled back from and I was hoping you could answer a question for me?”

“Certainly. Is this about your homework?”

“No, not my homework—about how the time turner works.”

“Well that is very complicated. There is a whole section of the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic devoted to it. What is done there, who could say—but I can say this—time is a very difficult concept to question.”

Hermione nodded fervently.

“Yes, I understand. I was hoping you would be able to explain why my watch isn’t changing with me when I go back in time?”

Hermione held her wrist up for McGonagall to see the watch in question. The Professor peered at it for a moment before speaking.

“Ah, yes—this I can explain. I believe your watch has not changed as it was on your person when you used the time turner.”

McGonagall paused here for Hermione to comprehend what she had said. She continued when Hermione stared at her, bewildered.

“You will notice that the time turner does not revert you to the state you were before you used it. You remain the same, as does your clothing and your watch. Take for instance, if you were to break your arm and travel to before the accident occurred—your arm would remain injured. You cannot undo what has already occurred, whether past or present, as it has already happened in this order. Hence, your watch will not change as it, like you, is native to the present timeline.”

“So my watch will not change back in time because it is continuing as though the timeline was uninterrupted?” Hermione said curiously.

“Precisely.”

Hermione sighed.

“You are not happy with this answer?” questioned McGonagall, bemused.

“No!” said Hermione hurriedly. “No! I was just hoping that there would be a solution—some way for me to be able to fix it so I could still tell the time when I am moving between classes.”

McGonagall pondered this for a moment.

“There is a spell—relatively simple, though few use it because a watch is so convenient. If you cast tempus, the time should appear mid air. I am afraid this is the best replacement I can give you for a watch. Professor Burbage would be quite disappointed.” She added, with a hint of a smile.

“Thank you, Professor!” Hermione replied earnestly.

“You are welcome, Miss Granger. Now off you go, I am sure you have plenty of homework to be getting to.”

Hermione nodded and thanked Professor McGonagall again before walking out of the classroom. She returned to the library, slipping off her watch as she did so. It was a shame to take it off—it had been a Christmas present from her parents—but it was no use now and could possibly give away her secret. It was best she didn’t wear it anymore. She could put it on again when she went home and her parents wouldn’t have to get upset over it. As she walked, Hermione decided to try out the tempus charm. With a quick wave of her wand and an utter of the incantation, the time appeared in front of her in neat numbers. She figured she still had a half hour until lunch and decided she could use this time to continue the dementor research she had started the night before.

Hermione chose a seat at one of her favourite tables, hidden near the back behind a row of shelves. She pulled the book she had borrowed the night before from her bag, only feeling slightly guilty for neglecting her class textbooks and ever increasing list of homework. She had meant to read through the chapter on dementors last night, but her mind had been so preoccupied with thoughts of Malfoy that she had entirely forgotten to look at the book until this morning. She had only been able to quickly rifle through it on the way to breakfast then and had realised that the book was incredibly advanced, presumably NEWT level. She turned back to the chapter on dementors now, hoping it wouldn’t assume too much knowledge on her part.

She was grateful to see that dementors were apparently not usually studied until NEWT level—the book provided a brief explanation of the dark creatures and what they called a ‘dementor attack’, though it seemed to mostly involve defence. The more Hermione read of the description, the more repulsed she became by the creatures. She had been wrong. They weren’t connected to Basilisks—at least, not for everyone. The dementors were creatures of darkness and despair—they forced a person to relive their worst memories and fill them with a sense of dread and emptiness. Hermione recalled what Ron had said after the attack. That it felt like he’d ‘never be cheerful again’. That seemed to be an apt description.

So that was why Hermione had been sent into the paralysed state of the Basilisk attack. She had been recalling her worst memory—being trapped inside her frozen body, slowly losing control and consciousness. The thought now brought her a chill that was reminiscent of the dementors. For a moment she stared around fretfully, but there was no dementor in the warm library—her shiver was caused only by her memory.

Hermione thought back to the dementor in the train compartment, recalling each of her friends’ reactions. Of course, Harry’s had been the worst, but now she could understand that—Harry had far worse memories than any of them. To relive them all at once, whilst being filled with a total sense of despair—Hermione couldn’t imagine how horrible it would be. But Hermione’s mind drifted from Harry and she recalled the look of terror on Ginny’s face. Hermione had spent part of the summer staying in Ginny’s room, yet Hermione had never asked her about her experiences in the previous year. Ginny’s first year at Hogwarts had been far from easy—this is clearly what she had been reminded of when the dementors approached. Hermione remembered now that she had thought to check on Ginny after the attack, yet she had become quickly distracted by schoolwork, Hagrid, and Malfoy. She felt guilty about that now and resolved to make sure she spoke to Ginny today. Maybe it could help her to explain what the dementors were—or at least help her to prepare herself if she had to see them again.

Hermione glanced at the clock and realised with a start that it was only five minutes before the end of potions. She’d have to run there or Harry and Ron would notice her missing—and find her talking to Draco. She shoved her books back into her bag and reminded herself that her conversation had been uninterrupted which meant she had to make it on time.

Hermione reached the dungeon corridor, which was quickly being filled by students. She rushed up the steps, checking the time turner was still hidden beneath her robes as she did so.

“How did you do that?” Ron’s voice called out beside her.

She turned around, panicking.

“What?” she tried to say casually, hoping they couldn’t hear how out of breath she was.

“One minute you were right behind us, the next moment, you were back at the bottom of the stairs again.”

“What?” Hermione repeated, trying to look confused. “Oh, I had to go back for something. Oh no—”

Her bag that had been hanging from one hand had suddenly torn down the seam. Her books and parchment tumbled out onto the dungeon floor. Hermione tried to brush off Ron’s questions about why she had so many books, but he didn’t seem to want to accept her answer.

“I hope there’s something good for lunch, I’m starving.” She eventually cut across him and, without waiting for his reply, she sped up in the direction of the Great Hall.

Her heart was thumping loudly as she allowed herself to be swallowed by the crowd of students. That had been a close call—too close. She couldn’t let something like that happen again—she would need to be more careful in the future and make sure her movements were seamless. This was too important for her to risk a mistake—McGongall had vouched for her and had trusted her to keep this to herself. Hermione couldn’t disappoint her.

\---

Hermione was grateful that neither Harry nor Ron brought up their odd exchange throughout lunch. They walked to Defence Against the Dark Arts together, speculating what the new teacher would be like. After their introduction to him on the train, they were all quite eager to have their first lesson with him. It seemed they weren’t wrong to be excited when Professor Lupin announced to the class that they wouldn’t need their books this period—just their wands.

There was a rush of excited murmuring as the class packed their things away—they had never had a practical class before. The hushed voices grew louder when the professor announced that they would be leaving the classroom to complete the lesson.

Lupin led them out of the classroom and down the corridor. The students couldn’t yet tell how strict he was and were nervous about speaking too much as they travelled down the corridor. They turned the corner and were faced with the poltergeist, Peeves, who seemed to be stuffing the lock of a broom cupboard door with bubblegum. Whatever the class expected, it was certainly not for Professor Lupin to whip out his wand and cast a jinx that caused the gum to shoot out of the lock and up Peeves’ nose. Hermione didn’t know if she liked the method but she had to admit she had rarely seen anyone deal with Peeves so effectively.

Lupin continued walking as though there had been no interruption and the class hurried behind him, eager to see if he would cast any other spells along the way. Lupin stopped at the door to the staffroom and directed the class inside. Hermione thought the room was empty at first, before noticing Professor Snape watching them from an armchair. He swept past them, warning Lupin as he went about Neville’s apparent ineptitude, sliding in a dig at Hermione’s attempt to help in the process. Hermione blushed deep red, but her face was nothing compared to Neville’s, who was staring at the ground, scarlet faced.

“I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation and I am sure he will perform it admirably.” Lupin’s voice remained light, but there was a tone of finality in it that encouraged no further comments. Snape glared at him, before stalking out of the classroom. Lupin began the lesson, directing the students' attention away from Snape’s retreating form to focus on an ominously shaking wardrobe.

“Nothing to worry about. There’s a boggart in there,” Lupin informed the class.

The class continued to look worriedly at the wardrobe, apparently not assured by this. Lupin began his description of the many places a boggart could appear and Hermione recalled the section in the textbook on boggarts. She had read through the textbook before the term started to feel prepared—she felt grateful for that now as Lupin asked the class what exactly a boggart was.

Hermione raised her hand confidently.

“It’s a shape-shifter. It will take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Hermione beamed at the praise and listened attentively as Lupin elaborated on what the textbook had described. She was impressed by his teaching—it was exciting to have a teacher who clearly knew the subject so well. After practicing the charm to repel a boggart, Lupin called the class to order and invited Neville to help him. Neville went to the front, looking increasingly nervous. Lupin either was oblivious, or pretended not to notice. Hermione suspected the latter.

The class laughed when Neville revealed to Lupin that the thing he feared most was Professor Snape—although most Gryffindors were sympathetic to this fear. It seemed odd when Lupin asked Neville to describe his grandmother's clothes, but the class burst into laughter again when Lupin revealed his plan—Neville would make his fear comical by imagining Professor Snape in his grandmother’s clothes.

With this example in mind, Lupin asked the class to imagine what their own greatest fear would be. Hermione struggled to think through her own fears. Her mind instantly went to the moment in the train compartment when she had felt paralysed by the memory of the basilisk—but how could she beat that? How could she make being paralysed and the gradual loss of connection to the world into something humorous—how could she even cast the spell to do so if she was paralysed? Is that what would happen again? The boggart would appear as a basilisk and she would be left, paralysed and defenceless.

Before she could think about it further, Lupin called the class forward to watch Neville tackle the boggart. Lupin opened the wardrobe and a shockingly realistic Snape stepped out. Neville stuttered out the incantation and, with a loud crack, Snape was suddenly in a dress and vulture-topped hat, clutching a large red handbag. The class let out a great shout of laughter and the boggart stared around, confused. Lupin called on the next student and they began to each step forward to face the boggart, making something terrifying into something comical. The staffroom rang with the class’ laughter. Most of the class had taken their turn when Harry stepped up. Hermione felt nervous, knowing she was next and still unsure of what exactly would happen when her boggart appeared and how she could fight it.

“Here!”

Lupin had stepped forward to face the boggart. A silvery-white orb appeared in front of the class and Lupin cast the spell on the increasingly confused boggart. It landed again at Neville’s feet.

Lupin cried, “Forward Neville, and finish him off!”

Snape appeared again for a moment, looking entirely bemused in his lacy dress. Neville let out a single shout of laughter and the boggart burst into smoke and disappeared. Hermione watched it fade, feeling disappointed that she hadn’t had the chance to face it—what if this came up in the exam? Yet she felt relief as well, still uncertain as to what it would have turned into.

The class chattered excitedly as they left the staffroom. Hermione noticed that Harry seemed quiet and realised he too must be disappointed that he had missed his turn with the boggart. They had both received points for answering questions, but it would have been fun if they could have joined in the class’ excitement at beating their fears.

“That was the best Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson we’ve ever had, wasn’t it?” Ron remarked excitedly to Harry and Hermione.

Hermione nodded. “He seems like a very good teacher. But I wish I could have had a turn with the boggart.”

“What would it have been for you? A piece of homework that only got nine out of ten?” Ron said with a laugh.

Hermione stared at Ron, stung by the comment. He had already moved on, talking with Harry about the class, but Hermione couldn’t help but feel hurt. Yes, she obviously cared about and worried about her grades, but it seemed a stretch to think that would be her greatest fear. Had he so easily forgotten what happened last year? Or did he simply not think it was something that would be scary? Maybe she was just overreacting. Was it unreasonable to still fear returning to that petrified state? It _was_ called petrification—Hermione tried to rationalise her fear with this thought, but she couldn’t seem to shake Ron’s comment. It wasn’t just that he was disregarding her experience last year—it was also that apparently he thought she was only capable of thinking about school. Was she really that two dimensional to Ron?

Of course she wasn’t. She was one of his best friends. He was only making a joke—that was what Ron did. He was joking with her—she was just sensitive because she had been thinking of what she really feared. With this in mind, she pushed her worries about the implications of what Ron had said away and joined back in the conversation with Harry and Ron.

\---

Hermione spent the evening in the common room, catching up on her already mounting pile of homework. She knew she had wasted precious time this morning, researching dementors instead of focusing on her prescribed work. Yet she still couldn’t help her mind drifting back to what she had read. It should have answered her questions but she couldn’t understand them properly. There was something missing in the explanation she read. Maybe she had missed a page. Because it didn’t make sense that these dementors could control people based solely on fear. Yes they made you miserable, but how did that explain them being the guards of Azkaban? Surely the prisoners weren’t held in place by the unnatural chill of the dementors.

Hermione suddenly found herself moving out of the common room, abandoning her work. She wasn’t sure what she was looking before but she knew she needed an answer now. Hermione hadn’t even thought about where she was going until she had arrived at the sealed library doors. In her hurry she hadn’t checked the time—apparently it was past curfew. Hermione groaned and leant back against the wall, slightly out of breath from her sprint to the library.

“Granger?”

Hermione’s head snapped up. What was Malfoy doing here? He was staring at her with an almost concerned expression. Hermione shooed the thought from her mind. He wasn’t concerned about her. Probably confused as to what she was doing out at this hour.

“Uh, hi Malfoy,” She replied tiredly.

He smiled at her easily and Hermione stared back at him, surprised.

“Are you alright?” he asked cautiously. Hermione couldn’t mistake it this time. Malfoy did sound concerned—probably because he was having a conversation with someone who looked slightly crazed.

“You ask the hard questions, Malfoy,” Hermione said in response.

He surprised her again by chuckling softly.

“Okay, I’ll try for an easier one. What are you doing here?”

“Library.”

“It’s closed.”

“I can see that.”

“It’s after curfew.”

“Yes I can see that too, now.”

“You didn’t check the time?”

“I forgot.”

“Don’t you have a watch?”

“Hard questions again.”

He stared at her bewildered.

“Okay,” he said, seemingly shrugging off her odd behaviour, “So, what are you doing here now? Planning to wait outside the library until it opens in the morning? Because I don’t think Filch will allow that.”

“No, I just—” Hermione broke off, staring around to the end of the corridor.

Malfoy followed her look and had opened his mouth, probably to ask what she was doing, when she pressed a finger to her lips. In the silence, they could both hear the sound of Filch’s wheezing as he hurried along a nearby corridor. They looked at each other, eyes wide with fear. It was as if the caretaker had sensed his name being spoken.

Hermione grabbed Malfoy’s arm and pulled him with her behind a tapestry that concealed a hidden passageway. She was sure Filch knew about it but figured they were less likely to be found here than standing in the corridor. They could hear Filch’s wheezing growing nearer. Hermione held her breath, trying not to make any noise. Was he approaching the passage? She edged backwards, pulling Malfoy with her. If they were far enough back, Filch would hopefully not be able to make them out in the darkness.

It seemed like Filch would never leave the corridor. Hermione didn’t risk pulling Malfoy any further into the passage, worried that one of them would trip over the uneven flooring in the darkness and cause a ruckus that would certainly alert Filch to their hiding place. After what seemed like an age, the sound of footsteps seemed to grow quieter, until they were left in silence. Hermione let out a sigh of relief. She realised she was still gripping Malfoy’s arm and released it quickly.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Huh?” Draco said, confused. He looked down at his arm. “Oh—don’t worry about it.”

Hermione slumped back against the wall. Draco stared at her curiously in the near darkness of the passageway.

“So, are you going to tell me?” he said eventually.

“Tell you what?”

“Why you needed to get to the library so desperately? Some sort of book emergency that couldn’t wait until morning?”

Hermione almost missed the joke—she might have if his tone wasn’t so light. She sighed and slid down the wall so that she was sitting against it. It would have to wait until morning now and she would have to try to sleep not knowing the answer to the question that was plaguing her mind. Malfoy moved to sit down beside her, then yelped and jumped back up.

“What’s the matter?” Hermione said, trying to see him in the darkness.

“Sat on a rock. It’s so dark in here.”

“Well would you rather go back and wait for Filch to find us?”

“No, just wait—lumos.”

The passage lit up in the light from his wand. He kicked aside the offending rock and sat back down beside Hermione. He fixed her with a look that reminded her she wasn’t going to get out of answering his question because he sat on a rock. She looked away from him, trying to decide if she could share this with him. It wasn’t just her research into dementors—it was the reason she was researching them. Would he see through her questions and know her fear—the fear she had been so scared to speak out loud, to even think of?

“I was looking for a book.”

“You know, I surmised as much.”

“Funny.”

They fell silent again, Malfoy waiting for her to speak, Hermione trying to think of what to say. Draco broke the silence.

“What book did you need?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What were you wanting to find, then?”

“I was researching dementors.”

There—she had said it. Draco could _surmise_ from that whatever he wanted.

“Dementors? That’s a cheery topic.”

“I don’t like them.”

“You don’t say?”

“I thought if I could understand them, I might—I might be less afraid.”

“You don’t think that anymore?”

“Hm?”

“You used past tense.”

“Oh—yeah, I guess so. I read about them this morning. I wanted to know why they made me think—remember—certain things and I found it out but—it just still doesn’t make sense,” she trailed off.

Malfoy nodded, looking as though he was thinking deeply.

“What doesn’t make sense?” he said, after a moment.

“I know now what they do. They suck every happy thing from any space they are in and fill it with emptiness and despair. I know that’s why they bring up unhappy memories and why you feel like you won’t be happy again. But I just don’t understand how they’re so effective?” she saw the look on Malfoy’s face at this and elaborated, “I don’t mean how they’re so good at making people miserable. That makes sense. I mean how they work so well as guards. Sure, it’s horrible to be near them and I can imagine a person being driven insane by being constantly surrounded by them, but that doesn’t explain it.”

“Explain what?”

“How they work as guards. They guard Azkaban, right? That’s what Dumbledore said. But what power do they have to hold people there? There’s never been an escape before Sirius Black. So how can they hold people there? Surely they aren’t just held in their cells by misery.”

Hermione stared at the wall. She didn’t know why she was saying all this to Malfoy, as if he could actually answer her questions. There was some sense of relief in finally speaking about the thing that had taken over most of her mind, but she would have to come back to the library tomorrow if she wanted a real answer.

“Do you really need to know the answer?” Draco asked quietly.

Hermione whipped her head around to look at him. Was he suggesting he could answer her question?

“Yes,” she said, without hesitation.

“My father told me about it once. I don’t think he wanted to tell me but I saw this photo of my aunt and I’d asked my mother about it. She got upset and Father took me aside and told me that she was in prison. Azkaban. I didn’t stop asking questions until he had told me everything.” He turned to smile at Hermione. She couldn’t help but smile back—for a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, they may not be too different.

“What did he tell you?”

“Some of what you have already found out—and some more.”

“Like what?” she urged him, impatient to hear what he knew. Why was he hesitating so much?

“You’re right, it’s not just the feeling you get when they’re around. The dementors have another…ability. That’s what they use to control the people in Azkaban—to keep them there. Well, they don’t actually use it most of the time. They don’t often do _it_. But knowing they can is enough to scare most people off from trying to escape them. The ones who do try they—”

“They what?” Hermione asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“They get kissed.” Draco asked, his voice barely audible.

“Did you say kissed?” asked Hermione, bewildered.

“Apparently that’s what it looks like.”

“What it looks like?”

“When they suck out your soul,” Malfoy said, his voice rushed and harsh.

“They…” Hermione’s voice trailed off, unable to repeat what he said.

“Yeah.”

Hermione brought her knees close to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, feeling as if there was a dementor in their thin corridor, the cruel chill enveloping her. She thought her memories of petrification were horrid, but this—this kind of creature existing in the world, existing within Hogwarts—was terrifying. How many people had suffered this fate? Was this the wizarding version of a death sentence? But it was so much crueller than death—it was ripping the very essence of a person from their bodies, leaving them with nothing but an empty shell. It was evil—she knew that was how the dementors were, but were people like that too? The people who allowed it to be administered—the people who ordered it to be performed?

Hermione felt a hand on her arm and glanced to the side, startled to see Malfoy looking at her with concern. She had forgotten he was there. For a moment they stared at each other. She was sure her horror was written on her face—she could see the disgust on his.

“It’s horrible, I know,” he said softly, “but you don’t need to worry about them hurting you. You’re too—” He looked away. “You’re a student. They won’t hurt students.”

“I still don’t want to go near them.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“It’ll be so much worse now, knowing that.”

“Should I not have told you?”

“No, I would have kept looking until I found it out. At least—” Hermione hesitated, unsure of what she had meant to say. Draco looked at her questioningly. She took a breath and said, “At least I had someone to talk about it with when I did get my answer.”

Draco nodded sympathetically. He glanced down at his watch and swore.

“What?”

“It is _way_ past curfew,” he said, sounding worried.

Hermione stood up, starting to feel concerned too. She was a long way from Gryffindor tower.

“We better go,” she said.

“Yeah,” Malfoy replied, standing up.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Draco stared at her for a moment, looking as though he was trying to decide something. When he spoke it was in a gentle voice, unlike one she had ever heard him use before.

“When you’re near the dementors—do you remember the basilisk? Being petrified, I mean?”

Hermione jerked her head to look at him, shocked by the question. How had he guessed?

“Yes.” The answer slipped out before she had even decided to say it.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

They looked at each other again, the moment slightly awkward, but not uncomfortable. Hermione broke the silence.

“We should go.”

“Right. Nox,” he said and the light on his wand tip extinguished

“Goodnight, Draco.” Hermione said, turning away from him and walking down the corridor.

“Goodnight…Hermione.”


	6. Runaway Tears

Hermione. He had said Hermione. She had called him Draco. Did she notice that she had? Or was it so easy for her that it had slipped out, unguarded? First names. New territory. Did first names mean they were friends? No, that didn’t make sense. Granger wasn’t his friend. She was Potter’s annoying know-it-all friend. She couldn’t be his friend too. But even the conversation that they just had seemed to contradict this. He had laughed and smiled with her easily, even teased her, without considering the implications. Draco was not an impulsive person, yet it seemed he had leapt into a friendship with a Gryffindor without a second thought. A Gryffindor who was best friends with Harry Potter, no less.

He had meant for this to stop at an apology, yet somewhere it had jumped past that. When? In the hospital wing? Draco recalled the sense of longing he had felt when Hermione had described the kind of friendships she had with Potter, Weasley and even Hagrid. He couldn’t quite understand how that kind of friendship worked—no conditions, no connections—just friends, without expectations. Draco did want that, or was at least curious as to what that would feel like—is that how this had happened? He felt jealous of her friendships for a moment and instead of being annoyed, she decided to befriend him too? What kind of person just did that?

Draco looked around and realised he had made it to the Slytherin dorms. He was lucky he hadn’t run into Filch—he hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings at all. If the caretaker had been lurking around, there was no way he would have had time to hide.

“Parseltongue,” Draco said quietly to the stretch of blank wall in front of him.

He hurried down the passage as soon as it appeared from behind the wall. He was thankful the common room was empty when he turned into it—he was not ready to answer questions about where he had been. Draco snuck into his dormitory and got into bed quietly, not wanting to wake his sleeping dorm-mates.

Hidden behind his curtains, Draco sat up in bed, unable to even think of sleeping. What did a friendship with Granger—with Hermione—mean? His friends wouldn’t accept it and surely hers wouldn’t either. They both seemed to know that, yet neither had wanted to broach the topic of why they couldn’t talk to each other in front of their friends. It would be difficult, surely—for what benefit? Draco couldn’t think of any.

Yet, as he lay down on the bed, Draco couldn’t help feeling that it was a friendship that he _wanted_. Not based on necessity as his other companions were, but because, as much as he had tried to deny it, he actually liked spending time with her. It was easy to be her friend—easy to be happy around her. And this is what Draco thought of as he drifted into a deep sleep.

\---

Draco didn’t see Hermione alone again until the midway through the next week. When they passed in the halls, both usually surrounded by their own groups of friends, there was no real difference in the way they acted to each other. Draco was silent more often than not, as his friends called out their criticism of the Gryffindors. He was only occasionally forced to join in, their questioning looks when he didn’t laugh at their joke too much for him to wave off. Draco hoped she caught his apologetic looks. He felt hopeful, noticing her face rarely seemed to reflect anger back at him, and began to find it hard not to smile at her, or laugh with her when Crabbe struggled to think of an effective insult.

They communicated only through these subtle looks, until their Arithmancy class the next week, where they pretended to be annoyed at being forced to sit together. It was easier to go unnoticed here, with neither of their friends in the class and their seats at the back. The class didn’t allow much opportunity for talking, but neither seemed to mind too much, enjoying working comfortably side-by-side. The professor had just finished explaining the work they were to complete individually for the last fifteen minutes of the lesson, when Draco decided to scribble a note and slide it to Hermione.

_How’s the research going?_

She looked at the note, surprise written on her face when it slid onto her parchment. As she read it, a small smile spread across her face. She wrote something down and pushed the parchment back to Draco

_Not so much research anymore—some Slytherin answered my questions. How goes the arm?_

Draco couldn’t help but grin as he looked at the note. He slid it under his parchment as the professor walked behind them and pretended to busy himself with the assigned work. Once the coast was clear, he pulled the note back out and wrote his reply.

_Sounds like a great guy. Arm is okay—annoying having these bandages on all the time._

Hermione shook her head as she read his note.

_He’s alright. Do you know when you’ll get them off?_

_No idea. Pomfrey won’t tell me—you know how she is, she’ll want me bandaged up forever._

Draco hesitated, then added another sentence to the note.

_My father is pretty furious too, I think he wants me to use this to get Hagrid fired._

Hermione’s brow furrowed as she read the message. She paused, staring at it, before she slowly wrote her response. Draco felt increasingly nervous, the longer she took. What if she was furious at him? But he had wanted to warn her. She slid the note to him and bent over her work.

_What do you want to do?_

That was not what he had expected. He thought she would have written a tirade of insults, or threatened to tell everyone what he had said as revenge. What did he want? He’d hardly thought of it, but he knew the answer.

_I don’t want to have to do that._

Her response was quick.

_Can you not do it?_

_I don’t know. He’s pretty angry after last year—losing his position as school governor, and Hagrid and Dumbledore coming back after his effort to get rid of them._

_Is he putting a lot of pressure on you?_

_He’s sent a lot of owls about it. He keeps saying it will be what’s best for everyone, that we’ll get a proper teacher. That I can have a role in making the school better._

Hermione paused again as she read this. Her response, again, was short.

 _That must be really tough_.

Draco could hardly think of a reply. The fact that she didn’t hate him for what he was saying and that she wasn’t insisting he find a solution was strangely comforting.

_Yeah._

The professor dismissed the class before Hermione could write her reply, but he didn’t fail to notice the soft squeeze on his arm, a quick reassurance, as she walked past him and out of the classroom.

\---

Arithmancy quickly became one of Draco’s favourite classes. He began looking forward to each of the lessons and the little chances he had to communicate with Hermione in them. The homework became far more enjoyable too, as he spent as much time remembering their conversations as he did doing work. Their interactions continued to be unnoticed by their classmates, none looking to the strange pair at the back of the class. One period, Hermione opened her bag to find her quill had fallen out. Draco handed her his spare wordlessly and insisted she hold onto it for the rest of her lessons when she tried to give it back. A week later, Draco ran out of parchment, having gone over the expected amount of inches in every class. Hermione had given him her own from a seemingly never ending sheath of parchment.

Sometimes Draco would notice that she seemed preoccupied, staring at the clock, or writing lists of homework that seemed to be far too long to be reasonably achieved. Draco had glanced at her list briefly and felt confused as he tried to figure out how many subjects she was doing. His calculations didn’t seem to add up and she somehow managed to avoid the topic whenever he asked. He supposed she was doing an extra class and was stressed about the workload that resulted in—that was probably why she didn’t seem to want to talk about it.

Draco had barely been able to keep up with his own workload as October started and quidditch practise began. The first match of the season would be Slytherin versus Gryffindor and Flint was determined to lead the Slytherin team to victory. Practise was made especially hard by Draco’s still bandaged arm—he tried to practise seeking one-handed, but Flint remained unimpressed. In the end, Draco had decided to deal with the pain and use both hands in practise to avoid the team’s dirty looks. This did not help in his arm’s recovery and the pain usually worsened when Draco came in from practise and tried to complete his classwork.

It wasn’t long before Draco was in the Hospital Wing again. He had tried his hardest to not let on the amount of pain he was experiencing to his teammates, pretending it was almost healed rather than annoy them with his groaning. However, after a particularly difficult manoeuvre to avoid a speeding bludger, Draco had been unable to help himself from letting out a howl of pain as all his weight fell onto his injured arm. His team had hurried over to where he had slumped on his broom and, despite his insistence that it was nothing, they had pulled back his bandage to see the swollen and bruised arm beneath. Flint had marched him to the Hospital Wing and demanded Pomfrey do something to fix his seeker’s arm.

This was where Draco lay now, swallowing an innumerable sum of potions and trying to convince Pomfrey he did not need to stay overnight.

“It’s fine really, I just landed on it in practise.”

“This does not look fine, young man! I told you to be careful with it—not to overexert yourself—and look what you’ve done now! Really, the healing process is going to be significantly longer now.”

“No!” Draco said frantically.

It couldn’t take longer—what about quidditch? And how was he supposed to convince his father it wasn’t a serious injury if he stayed in bandages for months?

“Calm down, Mr Malfoy,” Pomfrey said impatiently, “You should have been more careful if you didn’t want this to happen. I did warn you.”

Draco had sighed and resigned himself to not protest again as Pomfrey fussed over him. If he could get on her good side, he could maybe convince her not to make him stay overnight. This didn’t seem likely, so, when she was finally finished, Draco grabbed his bag and made a beeline for the door before she could tell him to stay. He’d go back in the morning to take the rest of his potions and deal with her anger then. Right now he needed to get back to the common room and make a start on the pile of homework he had neglected before practise.

“Draco?”

Draco was startled from the planning of his potions essay by the soft call of his name. He thought he recognised the voice and turned around to look at Hermione.

“Hi. How’s it going?” he said, trying to sound casual as he shifted his arm so that she wouldn’t notice his fresh bandages. He didn’t want another person berating him about his lack of care for his arm.

“Did you just come from the Hospital Wing?”

So much for her not noticing. He dropped his arm from the uncomfortable position he had twisted it into, deciding there was not much point in denying it.

“Ah—yes. Just a little practise injury though, nothing major,” he tried to sound nonchalant, “Pomfrey didn’t even make me stay the night.” It wasn’t technically a lie—she hadn’t been able to make him stay.

“Oh, okay,” she said, shifting awkwardly. Draco realised they were standing in the middle of the corridor.

“Uh—is it okay? Your arm?” Hermione continued, trying to cover the awkward moment.

“Yeah, totally fine,” Draco said, maybe a little too quickly. “I just have to keep the bandages on a little longer but it will be fine.”

“Oh—that’s a shame,” she looked worried and Draco felt nervous, wondering if she was thinking about how this could hurt Hagrid.

“Yeah but it will be fine,” Draco assured her, hoping that if he downplayed it enough then everyone would forget and no one would get hurt. Well, aside from him, but he wasn’t worried about that.

Hermione looked around again and Draco knew she felt uncomfortable speaking with him in such an open area. Did she not want to speak to him but was just too polite to say so? But she had been the one to start the conversation—surely she wouldn’t have done so if she didn’t want to speak to him.

“You know, I’m a little worried Pomfrey is going to change her mind and come searching for me to force me to stay in the Hospital Wing tonight,” Draco said with a laugh. “Mind finding somewhere not so in the open?”

Relief spread across Hermione’s face.

“You’re just like Harry. Sure—do you reckon that classroom is empty?”

Draco stared at her as she pushed open the door and peered inside. Did she just compare him to Potter? Part of him felt insulted, yet he couldn’t help but think that if Hermione was comparing him to her friend, then did that mean she liked him too?

“C’mon—I think I can hear Pomfrey coming,” Hermione called jokingly from the doorway of the classroom.

Inside the room, it was as though all awkwardness vanished. Both Draco and Hermione relaxed, undistracted by the thought of potential interruption.

“So, your arm is going to be okay?” Hermione said, settling herself on a desk.

“Yeah, nothing to worry about. I was just an idiot and overdid it in practise today.”

Hermione looked as though she wanted to say something but seemed to decide against it. Draco took a guess at what she was going to say.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell my father that it’s still bandaged unless I have to. I’m trying to give Hagrid a chance.”

Hermione looked puzzled for a second, as though she wasn’t sure why he had brought it up.

“Oh—thanks! That’s great! I think you’ll like his lessons. He knows magical creatures better than anyone I know.”

The talk of his father had brought another memory to his mind—that of Sirius Black and his attempts to warn Potter of his danger. Should he tell Hermione this? She could surely pass it on to Potter. But where would she say she heard it from? He was sure Potter wouldn’t believe Draco Malfoy had tipped her off. And did he even want her to know? She was as noble as any Gryffindor and would probably do something stupidly brave if she found out her best friend was being chased by a crazed murderer.

“Have you finished the Arithmancy essay?”

Her question broke through his thoughts and it took him a moment to place what she was talking about.

“Ah no—not yet—I’ll have to do it tonight.”

Draco hated how awkward he sounded, but his mind was still battling over whether or not to tell Hermione.

“I was just working on it at the library. I think I just need to add the conclusion and then it will be done but I’m not sure if I should have added in what he mentioned from Chapter Three? I know we haven’t actually covered that yet but still, he mentioned it, so I feel like it’s relevant?”

Draco stared at her. Was she asking his advice on homework? That was so…normal.

“We haven’t even read that chapter yet!” Draco laughed. “Of course you probably have, but I don’t think he’s expecting us to reference content we haven’t covered.”

“You’re right—I just get nervous when he references content from later chapters.”

“Yeah, he does that a lot—it’s annoying. How are we supposed to understand him if we haven’t read it yet?”

“It’s not too bad, I’ve read the textbook already anyway.”

“You’ve read the whole textbook?” Draco asked in disbelief.

“I like to be prepared for my classes!” Hermione said defensively.

“Classes?” Draco repeated, sounding even more stunned. “You read all your textbooks before term starts?”

“Well, yeah. I have the time after I buy them.”

“You’re insane,” he said with a soft chuckle.

“I am not!”

“How many textbooks did you read before the start of this term?”

“I don’t know!”

“C’mon, take a guess.”

“No, you’ll make fun of me.”

“Pretty certain I already am.”

She shot him an irritated look, but broke into a smile that made it difficult to believe she was actually annoyed at him. She suddenly reached over and grabbed his arm. Draco instinctively went to pull back, but stopped when he realised she was just looking at his watch.

“Is that the time?”

“I believe so.”

“I have to finish this essay—and you need to start it. We should go,” she said.

Draco nodded and turned toward the door. Hermione followed him out and they parted with a wave, each heading to their own common room. It wasn’t until Draco reached the stretch of wall that concealed the Slytherin common room that he realised he had never come to a conclusion on whether or not to tell Hermione what he knew about Black.

\---

The end of October approached quickly in a rush of quidditch, schoolwork and, when he had a spare moment, puzzling over his friendship with Hermione. He was certain it was a friendship now, the two continuing to pass notes in Arithmancy and give tips on essays and homework assignments. No, he wasn’t pondering over whether they had a friendship, but what the implications of this were. If you knew a friend’s best friend, who was also your enemy, was being hunted by a mass murderer who had betrayed the best friend’s parents, are you supposed to tell them? Even if it puts them in danger or in the position where they have to decide how to warn their best friend without giving away that they spoke to his enemy? Draco’s head throbbed just thinking about it.

He wanted to keep her safe—was she safer to know or to remain ignorant? If she was ignorant she could fall into a trap, but if she knew she may walk into a trap in the hope of helping Harry seek revenge. She had more sense than that, he knew, but he didn’t think Potter did and he suspected if she knew Harry was putting himself in a dangerous situation that she would not stand by to wait and see what happens. So is it safer not to know? They’re all protected anyway, by the school, the teachers and the dementors. Surely Black wouldn’t get past all that. Really, what could knowing do but worry her? And put her in the awkward position of having to explain to Potter how she managed to learn this incredibly confidential information.

It was safest not to tell her, Draco finally concluded one Arithmancy class. Knowing could hardly do her any good. And she was happy now, probably hardly worried about the escaped convict. She had enough to worry about—she was still making her lists and Draco swore they doubled in size every time he saw her. He stared at her as he thought this and, sensing his stare, she looked up at him and smiled. No, it was best she didn’t know.

\---

The end of October brought with it their first Hogsmeade weekend. Draco couldn’t help but join in his peer’s excitement. It happened to fall on Halloween, which only increased the air of amusement—it was hard to tell if the third years were more excited about their first Hogsmeade weekend or the highly anticipated Halloween feast.

Draco’s enthusiasm was only slightly held back by the thoughts of spending the whole day with his Slytherin friends. He had never felt this sense of unease around them before—he was usually comfortable as their ringleader. But ever since he had befriended Hermione, he had felt a small voice in his head, picking up on what he had usually been able to dismiss. He had begun to have to force himself to laugh at their jokes, wondering what about them was funny. He could imagine Hermione’s disdainful expression at one of Vincent or Pansy’s jokes, yet he couldn’t place why she would be disapproving. He was left with a sense of unease, as though he knew he was doing something wrong, yet didn’t know what it was.

These thoughts only made him feel torn between two sides he didn’t understand—he did care for his friends and he certainly valued their opinions, but since he had widened his definition of “friend” to include one more, he couldn’t quite figure out whose opinion he valued most. Draco had pushed this to the back of his mind this Halloween however—he would be spending the day only with his Slytherin friends—he probably wouldn’t even cross paths with a Gryffindor. He could enjoy himself today and allow worries to creep in tomorrow.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t quite push this internal battle aside for a day. He had only just joined the line of students waiting to walk to Hogsmeade, when Greg nudged him in the side and pointed over to where three Gryffindors were standing. Hermione looked upset about something as she and Weasley spoke to Potter. There was something off about the way the group was standing and it took Draco a moment to realise that Potter wasn’t in the line. Was he not going to Hogsmeade?

Draco could feel Greg and Vincent staring at him, waiting for his reaction. He tried to delay having to react by pretending he didn’t quite understand them.

“You reckon he’s not going?” Draco said quietly.

“Doesn’t look like it!” Vincent guffawed.

“Probably scared of the dementors!” Greg speculated, joining in Vincent’s laughter.

Draco stared at them, trying to weigh up his options. He knew what his friends wanted from him. His day would surely be miserable if he didn’t go along with it—but Hermione would be furious. Draco realised Greg and Vincent had stopped laughing. They were both staring back at him.

“What—you scared of the dementors too?” said Vincent, his voice mocking Draco.

He had taken too long to decide. Greg and Vincent were laughing again. Laughing at him this time. He couldn’t let that happen—they couldn’t laugh at him. Potter was saying his goodbyes. He was walking to the marble staircase.

“Staying here, Potter? Scared of passing the dementors?”

Draco barely recognised the shout of his own voice, he felt so disconnected from the words that he said. Greg and Vincent were laughing uncontrollably now, wheezing and doubling over with mirth. Potter ignored him and walked up the stairs.

Draco’s eyes fell on Hermione. Shock was written over her face. He felt his own face fall—he hadn’t realised he had been grinning. He felt the urge to call out again, but this time he stomached it. Weasley said something to her and she fixed him with a cold stare before turning her attention to Weasley, facing her back to Malfoy. He stared at her for a moment longer, before the line pushed him forward and he lost sight of her.

He had done what was expected of him—what was supposed to make him feel secure and accepted—so why did he feel even worse than before? Draco pushed his worries back out of his mind. He had said today would be easy. He would worry tomorrow. Today he would be with his friends and be who they knew him to be—who they expected him to be.

\---

Draco somehow managed to enjoy his day in Hogsmeade—whatever problems he may have with pressure from his friends, he couldn’t help but have fun with them. They didn’t mean it after all—they were only projecting what they had learnt their whole lives. They had been taught explicitly what was right and what was wrong and there had been no reason to contradict it. They were kids and they were enjoying a day of freedom in the wizarding village. Laughing at what they found in Zonko’s, buying sweets and testing their effects as they sat in the Three Broomsticks, drinking butterbeer and laughing again when Pansy looked up at them with a froth moustache.

They headed back to the school in high spirits, looking forward to the Halloween Feast that night. The feast was its typical spectacular extravagance, with plates upon plates of food and a very entertaining performance by the ghosts. Draco called out a taunt to Potter as they left the hall, enjoying the laughter it brought his friends and resolutely avoided looking at Hermione's hurt expression, reminding himself he would worry tomorrow. Today he could have fun—tomorrow there could be consequences.

Draco should have known that thinking couldn’t last—not for an entire day. He should have known something would go wrong. He should have known he would have to worry.

Only moments after they had arrived in their dorms, Prefects appeared and told them them to get out and line up outside. There was no explanation, no time to answer questions. Students exchanged confused looks, some worried by the order, others bored and complaining loudly. Draco remained silent, feeling in his gut that something was wrong. The prefects looked worried, talking quietly to each other and when Snape came to escort them to the Great Hall, Draco thought he had never seen him look so grave.

At the Great Hall, there was still little explanation for the fuss. Dumbledore told them they would be spending the night there ‘for their safety’ and that the teachers would be searching the castle—but what for? There was no further explanation as Dumbledore cast the house tables aside and filled the room with plush sleeping bags.

Upon his exit, the Great Hall filled with the sound of student’s chatter. The Slytherins searched around for someone to explain what was happening. It seemed the Gryffindors had arrived first and they were spreading the story to the other houses. The Slytherins did not want to lower themselves to speak to a Gryffindor and instead they listened in on others’ conversations, picking up what they could and then asking for the story once they saw someone respectable who knew what was happening.

Draco had been right to think that something was wrong—Sirius Black had tried to break into the Gryffindor common room during the feast. He had somehow gotten into the castle undetected and had not been noticed as he made his way to Gryffindor tower, with the school preoccupied in the Great Hall. They were saying he had attacked a portrait when she had refused him access, then disappeared.

All around him, Draco could hear students speculating as to why Black had broken in. Why had he gone to the Gryffindor common room? Had he been looking for students to attack and forgotten it was Halloween? Was he still in the castle? These questions circulated around Draco in the whispered voices of the students in sleeping bags near him. He ignored them. He knew why Black had broken in, knew why he had gone straight to the Gryffindor tower. He felt uneasy knowing this but not who else was aware of it. Did the teachers know? Surely Dumbledore did—the Ministry would have made sure Dumbledore was aware, if he wasn’t already..

No, he was sure Dumbledore and the professors knew—but what about Potter? And what about Potter’s friends? For the first time that day, he allowed himself to search out Hermione in the crowd. He found her easily, as though his mind had already been aware of where she was. She was huddled with Weasley and Potter, talking frantically and looking serious. Weasley was speaking with her, looking just as worried—Draco tried not to focus on the insult that popped into his mind as he stared at Weasley’s concentrating face.

He noticed after a moment that Potter didn’t seem to engage in the conversation with his best friends. In fact, he barely seemed to be aware of them speaking. He was staring off into the distance, apparently lost in his own thoughts. Draco stared at the three of them, trying to dissect their reactions. They seemed worried but so did everyone else he looked at. Did they know or were they speculating, just as the rest of the school was?

He stared at them for a moment longer but was unable to decide what their reaction meant. He turned back to his friends, not wanting them to notice the direction of his gaze. Before long, the prefects were directing them to go to bed and the lights in the hall were put out. It felt almost like sleeping outside, with the starry sky reflected above them. It made Draco feel exposed, as though he were actually lying outside, open to the world and to the will of Sirius Black.

Draco’s thoughts had finally landed on his own fear caused by the events of the night. He knew he hadn’t been the intended target but Black was unhinged—so his father said. He had been warned to stay out of his way, that Black was too unstable to recognise friend from foe, that he would blast anyone in his path out of his way. Draco felt a chill run through as he thought about how close he may have been to the mass murderer. He pushed the idea from his mind—Draco had been surrounded by people all day—he had been completely safe. He tried not to think about the fact that Black had easily killed thirteen people with one spell.

Draco’s was far too agitated to sleep. He tossed around in his sleeping bag, trying to find a comfortable position on the cold, stone floor. Why hadn’t Dumbledore thought to at least spell the sleeping bags soft so that the students could be comfortable? He supposed the headmaster had been focusing on other things at the time. The students in the hall were still whispering, most likely continuing the speculation about Black’s break in. Draco lay still, having given up any attempts to fall asleep with the noise around him. He could hear prefects trying to hush groups of talking students, but they weren’t having much luck with the amount of students having whispered conversations.

Draco raised himself off the ground slightly, deciding to chance another look at the Gryffindors. He could just make them out through the darkness. They still seemed to be talking, worried looks plastered on their faces. Did they know? He couldn’t tell. Did he want them to know? He wanted Potter to know—he had decided that and knew that it was the right thing to do. If he warned Potter and something happened, he could at least feel that his conscience was clean—he didn’t want to have to worry about feeling guilty over Potter.

Whatever he felt Potter ought to know, however, he didn’t want Granger to find out. He didn’t want her to be at risk—she didn’t need to be. It wasn’t her fault she’d befriended someone who attracted so much danger. He couldn’t help but think that she would probably stick by him even when they were surrounded by threats—stupid Gryffindor nobility. Granger couldn’t help Potter by knowing, he had decided that already. It would only make things more difficult if he told her because she would never be able to explain where she had heard it from. He felt torn again, between his decision to make sure Potter knew and his decision to keep Hermione safe. He knew now that in the end he would never be able to have both. Potter valued his friends too much to keep something like that from them. If he knew, they would know. But the question still remained—what did Potter know?

“Hey—Draco,” A whispered voice came from beside him.

“What?” he said, annoyed as he tried to place where the voice had come from. His eyes landed on Pansy who was staring at him.

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing Pansy. Just trying to get comfortable on this floor.”

“Oh I know, it’s so uncomfortable, right! It’s ridiculous that we have to sleep on the floor…”

Draco nodded tiredly, not listening to what she was saying. He was exhausted and felt confused and worried—exactly what he had wanted to avoid today. He thought he would be allowed one day of freedom to enjoy himself, to not think of consequences. But his decisions were reaping consequences and he would have to deal with them. But for now, his eyes were growing heavy, his body accustomed to the stone floor. For now he would sleep—tomorrow he would worry.

\---

The next morning the students were woken early and told to return to their dorms to prepare for class. They were informed only that Black had not been caught and that several full sweeps of the castle had proved he was no longer in the building or on the grounds. This only increased the chatter and speculation of the students—how had he gotten in and out undetected? And when would his next attempt be?

Draco spent most of the day trying to discreetly catch Granger’s attention, to indicate somehow that he wanted to talk to her. As he promised himself, he had spent most of the day worrying about the events of the previous day. His taunts to Potter rang in his mind and Granger’s shocked face as he had called out came swimming into his mind every time he recalled his words. He needed to find her and explain—and hope he was able to figure out what she knew about Black.

It seemed, however, she was determined to avoid his eyes and Draco felt like she would never allow him to catch her alone. It was only by chance that he saw her duck into the library as he was heading to lunch. He followed her inside and located her at the end of a long aisle of books.

“Granger,” he said softly, then cursed himself for returning to the use of her last name—but maybe she didn’t want him to call her Hermione anymore.

She looked up at him, surprised, then furious. She turned away from him and went back to searching the shelves.

“Hermione, please can we talk?”

“Why?” her voice was quiet and cold, her back still turned to him.

“I want to explain—”

“Nothing to explain. I understand.”

“No, you don’t!” he burst out, infuriated by the lack of care in her voice.

His yell caused her to turn around. She fixed him with a cold stare.

“Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“That’s not what I was saying. If you would just listen—”

“I have listened. I tried my best. You haven’t changed, Malfoy.”

Her insult stung as much as the returned use of his last name. He stared at her miserably, unable to formulate a response. Was he really the same person he had been last year? He didn’t feel he was, but did that matter? What was the point in an internal war when the outside never differed?

She sighed irritably and moved to push past him. He grabbed her arm and she dropped the book she was holding. She looked at him, furious and he dropped her arm, reaching down to grab her book instead. He handed it to her with a muttered apology. She took it from him roughly and moved to walk past him again.

“Just wait a minute, please? Let me explain—or try to at least.”

“I’ve heard you explanations enough times and they always sound the same. I’m sick of believing them and then being shocked when you change your mind.”

“I’m not changing my mind! It’s just hard for me. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“I thought you said you were giving me an explanation, not an excuse,” she said cruelly, cutting him off.

“I’m trying, if you would just let me speak!” Draco said, annoyance finally edging into his voice.

Hermione looked taken aback by his tone and he took advantage of her silence to continue speaking.

“I’m just—I’m constantly torn,” he said in a rush, “between what I want and what I think I want and what everyone else wants for me—which is usually about a hundred different things by the way. I’m trying so hard to pick the right choice each time but sometimes I don’t! Sometimes I can’t! I can’t always pick the choice I want—especially when that choice means I have to sacrifice something massive.”

Hermione stared at him, her face set harshly, as though she was determined to not let any emotion cross it. She didn’t stop him from speaking however, so he continued.

“I told you I would try and I meant it—I really have been trying. And I think I’m not the same person because I never used to feel this way. I used to just be able to have fun with my friends without worrying about the consequences—without thinking about how it affected anyone else. It used to be easy and now everything is so damn hard and I—I don’t know how to do anything right anymore.” Draco clutched at his hair as he spoke, running his fingers through it in agitation. He turned away from Hermione, unable to keep staring at her unforgiving face.

“There are so many things expected of me,” he carried on, looking at the books, hating how his voice caught as he spoke. “I try to do my best, to make everyone happy, to be the Draco everyone expects me to be, who everyone believes me to be but I can’t pick which Draco to be. I want to be parts of every version of myself, but everyone else has chosen which Draco I should be and they won’t let me be anyone else.”

He could feel his throat tightening up in the attempt to hold back a sob—how long had he been holding this in? How long had he wanted to say this? He felt he wouldn’t be able to stop now—he knew he sounded weak but he couldn’t help the words rushing out.

“I don’t know what else to do. I want to be me but I don’t think anyone wants that. So I try to be this mix and no one wants that either. I don’t know how to be myself anymore.”

He closed his eyes, trying to hold back tears that were threatening to escape. He couldn’t cry here—not in the library, not with Hermione still watching him. She remained silent behind him and he felt embarrassment wash over him, realising all that he had just admitted to a person who probably despised him.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and nearly jumped, shocked by the sudden touch. He couldn’t make himself turn around to see Hermione, to look at the anger and judgment in her eyes.

“Draco.”

It was only the sound of her voice, soft and gentle, that made him turn. Her face had relaxed, looking at him with both concern and uncertainty.

“I want to believe you Draco, I really do—”

“But?” he said softly.

“—but I don’t know if I can keep doing this. I don’t know if I can keep believing you and then getting hurt and feeling like an idiot.”

Draco nodded, looking down at his feet. This was what he expected after all.

“I don’t know Draco, maybe—”

“You don’t have to explain. I understand.” He threw her own words back at her, surprised by how completely they lacked the emotions he was feeling.

Draco turned away from Hermione, without looking back to judge her reaction. He was sure he could imagine the disappointment on her face. He walked to the end of the aisle and out of the library, rubbing his eyes with his jumper sleeves furiously, hoping desperately that no one would notice him. It was clearly decided—if Granger was no longer letting him be that version of himself, then he would be the one everyone else expected. He would learn to stop his guilty thoughts, just as he had learned to think them.


	7. Outside the Hospital Wing (Part 1)

Hermione walked back to Gryffindor tower slowly, not in any hurry to reach it. She didn’t want to have to speak to people and act like there was nothing on her mind. She had stayed in the library for a few minutes after Draco’s abrupt departure, then gathered the books she had come for and followed his path out of the library. She hadn’t attempted to chase after him—she didn’t even know what she would say. A sensation of numbness settled over her, so contrary to the fury she had felt at the start of the conversation. Draco’s admission had caused a flurry of emotion to rise up in her, overwhelming her until she shut it all out.

She could not cope with this. She had enough to worry about—Black had just broken in and was trying to kill Harry. She couldn’t cope with this too. Hermione pushed it further and further into the back of her mind, wanting to cast it away. If she forgot about it then she wouldn’t have to worry about it and maybe she would stop feeling guilty for not wanting to deal with it.

Why had she thought it would be a good idea to befriend a Malfoy? Of course all he thought about was his own self-preservation. In the end, the friendship was briefly convenient in clearing his own conscience and when it got hard, he washed his hands clean of it. She tried not to feel stung by the thought. She could not care, too.

She pushed the image of Draco’s distressed face from her mind. It wasn’t her problem. He had chosen to act that way, he had chosen to try to be two people. It wasn’t her fault he was upset. She didn’t need to fix it. Accepting what he told her would be accepting to carry on as they had been—pretending to be friends and then pretending to be enemies, all the while neither knowing what they really were.

No, she couldn’t allow that anymore. She had been stupid, really, to ever think they could be friends. It was sensible to stop this now—she had other things to focus on. School, the time turner, Harry, Black. Her mind was plenty full of worries—she was allowed to alleviate herself from one and she would not feel guilty for it. Or learn to not feel guilty.

“Look sharp, young lass!”

Hermione looked up, startled. She hadn’t realised she had reached the portrait of Sir Cadogan, who was watching her and waving his sword at her menacingly.

“Whippersnapper,” Hermione said tiredly. She ignored the knight’s shouts as she stepped through the portrait hole.

The common room was instantly too loud for her liking—people had preferred not to linger in the halls since the previous day’s attack, resulting in the common room being much more crowded than it usually was at this time of night. Hermione wove her way through the crowd to Harry and Ron, telling them that she was going to finish her homework upstairs. She tried to encourage them to get started on their own homework, but she could see Ron gazing at his wizard’s chess set longingly and she doubted it would be long before the boys set up a game.

Once in her dorm she shut the door and pulled out her homework. Even with the use of the time-turner, her work was piling up and she felt exhausted. Better to start early and she could hopefully get a few hours of sleep. Thankfully, none of her dorm-mates had come up yet and she was able to work in peace for a few hours. With her mind focused solely on her homework, she finally began to relax, forgetting about all the worries that had weighed her down on her walk to the tower.

Slowly, her dorm-mates came up to the room and got ready for bed. When they turned the lights out, she simply pulled her curtains around and muttered lumos to illuminate her work. It was near midnight when she finally decided she was satisfied with her last essay, folding it carefully and adding it to her bag for the next day. She quietly got ready for bed, not wanting to disturb those sleeping around her.

Despite her exhaustion, Hermione found it impossible to sleep. The moment she lay down, her mind began whirring with a hundred different thoughts, trying to process all the things she had blocked out. Hermione lay in the dark for a while before giving up on sleep and trudging downstairs to the common room. Maybe she could at least get some reading done, and she was certain her favourite chair by the fire would be free at this hour.

However, when Hermione stepped closer, she noticed that the chair was already occupied. Ginny was sitting in it, staring distractedly into the fire. She hadn’t noticed Hermione behind her yet and Hermione hesitated, unsure if she should announce her presence or just go back up to bed.

Seeing Ginny there, Hermione couldn’t help but feel guilt wash over her anew. She had never spoken to Ginny, despite her resolution to. Sure, she’d thought about it but it had always been so easy to find an excuse. Why should she bring up a horrible memory when Ginny seemed happy with her friends? Why remind her of the events of the year before when she seemed to actually be moving on? Hermione had thought of telling her every time she saw her, but had always convinced herself that the moment wasn’t right, that another opportunity would come up. Well here was that opportunity—she and Ginny were alone and Ginny certainly looked like something was troubling her. Hermione knew that there was no excuse this time—Ginny needed a friend.

“Can’t sleep?” Hermione asked quietly.

Ginny’s head whipped around, her face alarmed. She relaxed when she saw Hermione standing behind the chair and nodded tiredly.

“Me neither,” Hermione said, sitting down in the chair opposite her.

Ginny turned to look back into the fire, nodding her recognition of Hermione’s words.

“Want to talk about it?” Hermione said softly.

Ginny looked back around at her, looking as though she was deliberating over whether to reply.

“Do you ever—do you ever think about when you were petrified?” Ginny eventually asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” said Hermione, dropping her voice to Ginny’s soft tone, “Yeah I do. Especially when I’m near the dementors.”

“They make me think of last year too. Of when it got really bad.”

“I read about it,” Hermione said, ignoring Ginny’s chuckle, “and apparently they’re supposed to make you relive your worst memories, make you feel hopeless.”

“What a great thing to have at a school. Why on earth did the Ministry order it? Surely there has to be a better option.”

Hermione shrugged. She knew why the Ministry had chosen such an extreme option of defence, but was not willing to betray Harry’s confidence.

“I just hate having to go near them.”

“Yeah, me too. Did you go near one today?”

“A whole bunch—I went to visit Hagrid and they were floating around the edge of the grounds. I felt horrible because I had to leave early—I couldn’t stand the sight of them.”

“Hagrid gets it. He hates them too.”

“Yeah, I suppose he would.”

They sat in silence for a moment and Hermione wondered whether she should push the subject. She was surprised when Ginny spoke again.

“I dream about it sometimes. About last year—I have these dreams where I turn up somewhere and I don’t know how I’ve gotten there but I know I’ve done something horrible. It’s always worse after the dementors—that’s why I didn’t want to go up to bed.”

Hermione nodded, unsure how to respond. She reached out to grasp Ginny’s hand.

“You’re safe inside now. The dementor’s can’t get into the castle, Dumbledore won’t allow it.” She paused before adding. “You-Know-Who can’t reach you either.”

She felt Ginny’s hand tighten around hers and squeezed it back, hoping it would be comforting.

“I just hate that he was in my mind. When I have those dreams—it feels like he’s here again, like I’m not in control again.”

“The diary is gone. He can’t hurt you anymore,” Hermione said, hoping her voice sounded reassuring.

Ginny nodded and she released Hermione’s hand.

“Thanks, Hermione.”

They both sat in silence again, comfortable in each other’s company, neither quite ready to suggest going to bed. Ginny surprised Hermione again by breaking the silence.

“So why can’t you sleep?”

Hermione turned sharply to look at her, before averting her eyes back to the fire. How could she answer? She didn’t want to lie after Ginny had been so honest, but she couldn’t think of a way to answer truthfully. Finally she decided to answer vaguely.

“I had an argument with a friend.”

“Not Harry or Ron?” Ginny asked quickly.

“No, not them. Another friend.”

“Okay. What about?”

Hermione hesitated again, choosing her words carefully.

“I don’t always like the way they act—it feels like sometimes they’re this totally different person. I guess I want to believe the good in them, but I don’t want to get hurt?” She phrased it like a question, unsure herself what she meant.

“If you believe there’s good then focus on that. Sometimes good people end up in tough situations and they can’t help how they act.”

“That’s kind of what they said, but I didn’t know whether to believe it.”

“I think you know what you believe, you just have to decide if it’s worth the risk.”

Hermione nodded, knowing Ginny was right. She knew she had believed Draco in the library—she hadn’t been scared that he was lying, but scared that if she believed him she would open herself up to getting hurt by him again.

“Since when were you so wise?” Hermione asked jokingly.

“I read some of your books over the summer,” Ginny said with a yawn.

Hermione laughed and Ginny smiled at her.

“Ready to go to sleep?” Hermione said.

“I think I could fall asleep here.”

“And have the whole house find you in your pyjamas in the morning?”

Ginny shot up.

“No thanks!”

The two walked up the stairs together, Hermione saying goodnight to Ginny at her dorm before heading to her own. She got into bed, feeling slightly placated, having resolved at least one of the problems stressing her mind and beginning to work her way to the solution of another. Her last thought as she drifted off to sleep was that, whatever happened with Draco, she knew she had gained a friend tonight.

\---

The next morning, Hermione woke with a plan formulating, as though her mind had been working on it as she slept. She knew she couldn’t let the conversation with Draco end where it had the day before, but she also knew that she couldn’t carry on the way they were. Hermione liked rules, she liked things to make sense and nothing with Draco made sense. She hated not understanding whether they were friends and what a friendship with him meant. Were his insults personal or was she meant to understand that he didn’t mean it?

She was determined to speak with him today—to see if he meant what he had said the day before and if so, how they were supposed to be friends with that kind of pressure. She was also very aware that she could not cope with the mounting guilt of having been so cold to Draco the day before when he had clearly been upset. However she tried to convince herself that she was allowed to be upset, she couldn’t find a reasonable excuse for how she had treated him. She had been overwhelmed by too many emotions over a short period and shut him out when he tried to reach out to a friend. If he didn’t want her friendship anymore, she should at least apologise for that.

As she walked down to breakfast with Harry and Ron, she mulled over how to get Draco alone to speak to him. It seemed that he always managed to find her—how was she supposed to indicate to him that she wanted to speak to him?

In the Great Hall, Hermione sat down with her friends at the Gryffindor table, smiling at Ginny as she did so, noticing that Ginny looked relatively well rested. Harry and Ron were alternating between speculating about Black and discussing Gryffindor’s chances in the upcoming match. They didn’t notice her inattention as she craned her neck to try to catch sight of Draco across the Hall. She was sure she wasn’t being subtle, but was determined to at least see where he was. She spotted him at the Slytherin table. His eyes caught hers across the Hall briefly, before his face reddened and he turned resolutely to speak to Crabbe beside him. Hermione lowered her gaze back to her breakfast and tried to focus on what she was eating. Had he been embarrassed by her attempt to catch his attention? Perhaps he decided after they spoke that he had regretted what he said and now didn’t want to speak to her about it.

Hermione ate her breakfast quickly and waited impatiently for Harry and Ron to finish. They headed to class together and Hermione tried her best to join into the boys’ conversation. She was grateful, for once, that they were talking about Quidditch and didn’t expect her to have much to say.

Hermione went through the day trying to catch a glimpse of Draco in the corridor with no luck. At lunch, she decided her best option would be to slip him a note in Arithmancy that afternoon and hope he would agree to sit with her. To her dismay, however, when she arrived in Arithmancy she noticed Draco had moved to sit next to Terry Boot and was looking determinedly at the front of the classroom. Apparently, Michael Corner wasn’t in today’s lesson and Draco had decided to take advantage of the opportunity to sit away from Hermione. Terry looked uncomfortable with the seating arrangement, but aside from him, no one seemed to care about the change. Hermione supposed most of them assumed Hermione and Draco would take any chance to not have to sit next to each other.

Hermione could hardly pay attention all lesson but tried her best to keep up with the professor. She felt entirely lost by the end of it and added it to her list of homework. She had decided that she would try to slip a note into Draco’s bag as he left. He would have to walk past her and hopefully he would see it when he unpacked his bag. She scribbled her note on a piece of parchment.

_Please meet me in the passage to the library after class. Just to talk._

She didn’t really know what to say and hoped the message would be enough to convince him to meet her. As she had expected Draco had to walk past her table on his way out of the classroom. Her hand shot to his bag, dropping the note in and quickly pulling away. Her hand caught on the edge of his bag as she moved away from him and his head shot around to look at her. A puzzled expression crossed his face as he looked between her and the bag, then he was pushed forward by the students trying to leave the classroom and moved out of her sight. Hermione shoved her things into her bag and followed the last of the students out of the classroom.

She made her way to the tapestry that concealed the passage and, disguised by the swarm of students, she pushed past it and disappeared from sight. She was disappointed to see that Draco wasn’t there, but she reminded herself that he may not have read or even noticed the note yet. What if he had thought she was just pulling on his bag, or that it had caught on her desk? She waited for several minutes before sitting down on the cold, stone floor. After a few more minutes, she pulled out her textbook and began reading the Arithmancy chapter from the lesson, hoping to understand it. She was just as distracted as she had been in class, however, and after ten minutes rereading the first two pages, she gave up and shut the book.

She looked down the corridor, hoping she would hear the sound of Draco coming—perhaps he had used the other entrance—but the passage was silent. The corridor outside had long since silenced and Hermione sighed. She should have known he wouldn’t come. He obviously regretted what he said and no longer wanted to speak to her. Hermione pushed herself up and headed down the passage, thinking she could at least get some study done in the library. She reached the end of the passage and leant forwards to hear if there was anyone in the corridor.

The tapestry was suddenly pulled open and Hermione yelped in surprise.

“Sorry! Sorry!”

Hermione’s confused mind didn’t register the voice for a second. Surely it wasn’t—

“Draco?”

“Uh, yeah, sorry—I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you’d be at the other end.”

“I was but I was just about to go to the library instead,” she admitted.

“Oh,” said Draco, sounding uncertain. He rushed to speak again. “I only just found the note when I was near the Slytherin dorms so I came here quickly and figured it would be faster to come through this end of the passage. I’m sorry if you thought I wasn’t coming.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t. Not after how I treated you yesterday.”

Draco stared at her, looking uncertain. Their heads turned quickly at the sound of nearby footsteps and Hermione leapt back to allow Draco to step into the passage.

“Do you mind if we walk a bit into the passage to talk? So that we’re not overheard?” Hermione asked tentatively.

“Yeah, good idea,” Draco replied and Hermione felt relieved.

They walked together in silence until Hermione felt that they had reached halfway. Draco lit his wand and they now stared at each other in the bright wand-light.

“What did you want to talk about, then?” Draco asked cautiously.

Hermione felt guilty that she hadn’t started the conversation—she should be the one trying to speak awkwardly, not him, but she couldn’t quite formulate her words.

“One second,” she said, trying to gather her thoughts.

He gave her a bemused look, but consented. After a moment of thinking, she spoke.

“I wanted to apologise first for how I responded yesterday. Whatever I was feeling, I should have been kinder to you. I was overwhelmed by everything that had happened with you and with Black and—” Hermione broke off, realising she couldn’t explain why Black’s break in had stressed her so much. “I just didn’t want to deal with any of it so I shut down, but I should have listened to you and tried to understand your perspective.”

Draco stared at her, his expression unreadable. Hermione felt uncomfortable and continued to try to explain herself.

“I just don’t understand how this works with us. When we talk you seem like a good guy, like someone I can be friends with, but then I see you with your friends and I can’t understand how the guy I know could be like that. It’s really hard to separate that in my mind.”

“It’s hard for me to separate it too,” Draco said quietly. “When I’m with my friends I feel guilty for laughing at their jokes or joining in when they make fun of people and then when I’m with you, I have their opinions in the back of my head the whole time. I feel like I can’t be fully happy in either situation.”

“I’m really sorry for putting so much pressure on you Draco. I didn’t know how much you were expected to act like that.”

“Yeah, it’s expected of me but also they’re my friends—don’t get me wrong, I don’t feel good about how I act with them but sometimes it’s nice to just be with my friends and not worry about consequences.”

“So who do you want to be?”

“I don’t know,” said Draco in a small voice, “I really don’t. It’s so much harder to hate someone when you know them.”

Hermione didn’t know if he was talking about herself, his Slytherin friends or his family.

“You can take the time to figure it out,” Hermione surprised herself by saying, “but maybe we should figure out how to be friends without fighting all the time.”

Draco gave a slight smile.

“What do you propose?” he questioned.

“I think it’s easier for both of us if we agree to keep our friendship secret—you’re not the only one whose friends would be furious.”

“That makes sense,” Draco agreed. “I feel like we were already doing that but I felt guilty about it.”

“Me too,” Hermione admitted. “Now neither of us needs to feel guilty because we’ve both agreed to it.”

“What about when I’m with my friends?” Draco asked tentatively.

“I know you have to act a certain way with them, I understand that the repercussions of you not fitting in can be heavy. Just—I don’t know—try your best to avoid having to join in? Or warn me if you know something’s going to happen so it’s not always a surprise.”

“I can do that. And I have been trying to give your friends a chance like you asked. They’re still twats but they seem to be good friends to you.”

Hermione smiled. “They are.”

“Okay, so it’s agreed then? We’re friends?”

“It seems we are,” said Hermione, feeling finally relieved.

\---

Friendship with Draco came more easily than Hermione would have thought. Draco had returned to sitting beside her in Arithmancy and the two had begun to subtly work together in the lessons. Hermione knew Draco was smart but was surprised by just how intelligent he was, occasionally pointing things out that Hermione hadn’t even realised yet. They had also continued their note passing to each other and Hermione was constantly finding scribbled parchment that she had shoved in her bag—they rarely made sense, usually a joke from a lost conversation or an answer to some homework question, but Hermione couldn’t help but smile whenever she found one.

Hermione hadn’t pushed him on his friends again and, despite her discomfort when she heard his mocking voice, she had begun to teach herself to tune it out. The first few times this happened, Hermione had found Draco searching out her face nervously. She always made sure to relax her expression so that he would know she understood, even if she didn’t like it. Hermione knew that this was a part of having a friendship with Draco, what they had agreed upon, so she forced herself to not get angry at his words. Sometimes a particular comment would hit an insecurity, but Draco seemed to understand when he had gone too far—Hermione had never been good at concealing what she was thinking.

Hermione couldn’t quite place why she valued this friendship so much that she would risk the judgement of her friends to maintain it. She supposed she couldn’t give up on Draco when she could see the good in him—part of her hoped he would just ditch his friends and make it easier for the both of them, but she reminded herself that some of them were friends he’d had since childhood. Besides, it wasn’t as though his friends were the only ones who wouldn’t be accepting of the friendship.

As the term carried on, Hermione had less and less time to spend with any of her friends, especially Draco. Her workload was continuing to grow, as were the expectations of her in class. The chance to find quick meetings with Draco became almost non-existent, as she spent more time studying in the library and common room. Harry and Ron had noticed the amount of work she was doing and Ron was particularly insistent in asking how she could attend all her classes. Hermione hated keeping a secret from her best friends, but she didn’t dare betray the trust Professor McGonagall had placed in her.

Hermione had barely spoken to Draco in a week, aside from rushed notes in Arithmancy, when he found her in the library.

“Hi,” she said, looking stunned when he sat down beside her.

He laughed at her rushed look around the room. They weren’t in the centre of the room but they were far from hidden.

“Don’t worry, everyone’s at dinner.”

“Is it that time already?”

“Yeah,” he said, laughing and bumping her shoulder with his own, “You should really get a watch.”

“I have one,” she replied, without thinking, her mind still on her charms essay.

“Then you should wear it.”

“Oh no, I can’t do that.”

“What—is it cursed?” he said, sounding like he was holding back laughter.

Hermione froze, realising what she said.

“Ah no—just broken.”

“You know I think there’s a spell for that…”

“I know but it’s Muggle so I don’t think that will work.”

“Okay, I’m not going to pretend to understand how to fix a Muggle watch.”

“Neither am I—it’s not exactly a thing done by every Muggle.”

“Interesting.”

“Very.”

“Why aren’t you eating dinner?”

“Essay. And then after that another essay. Then some questions.”

“Right. Can I help?”

“I’ve finished the Arithmancy one.”

“I do other subjects too, you know.”

She gave him a derisive look.

“Which essay are you doing?” he asked, ignoring her look.

“Charms.”

“Ah! I can help!” Draco said triumphantly.

Hermione started at his yell and shook her head at him, trying to hide the small smile on her face. Draco reached into his bag and pulled out a book.

“I found a great reference in here. Read from page 127.”

Hermione flicked to the page and read through it thoughtfully. Draco was right, this reference was perfect for the essay.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he said smugly.

Hermione swatted him with the book and Draco ducked.

“How come you’re not at dinner?” Hermione suddenly asked.

Draco looked uncomfortable, his easy demeanour lost.

“I was looking for you actually.”

Hermione widened her eyes, surprised. This was a first—they hadn’t really ever sought each other out, instead taking the chance to speak when one arose.

“Well, you found me—actually, how did you find me?”

“I noticed you weren’t at dinner and made an educated guess.”

“Why were you looking for me?”

“When we spoke about us being friends, you mentioned that if I knew something in advance it would be good to tell you?” He phrased it like a question, as though he was clarifying if she wanted him to tell her.

“Yeah—what’s going on, Draco?”

He looked away from her.

“I’m not allowed to play the match this weekend.”

Hermione furrowed her brow. How would that affect her? After a moment, the connection slid into place.

“The Gryffindor-Slytherin match.”

“Yep.”

“And they’re going to think you’re faking it to throw them?”

“Yep.”

Hermione groaned. She couldn’t exactly explain to Harry and Ron that she knew the details of Draco’s injury and she knew they thought he was exaggerating it.

“Are you okay?” she asked after thinking for a moment.

“No—I really wanted to play but Pomfrey insisted. I have to go tell Flint after this—there’s no reserve seeker so we won’t be able to play.”

Hermione felt slightly shocked that Draco had decided to tell her before his captain.

“How much longer do you need the bandages on for?”

“That’s the worst bit—Pomfrey said they could come off this week but then she looked at it this afternoon and said quidditch was aggravating it. I can’t play until they came off now. She reckons if I rest it I can have them off next week but it’ll be too late then. Even if I can convince her to take them off this weekend, I’ll miss a week of crucial practice.”

Hermione had never understood the obsession with quidditch that Harry, Ron and apparently Draco had. She didn’t know what advice to offer when Draco was clearly upset about this. She felt the silence stretch longer and felt she should say something to break it, but her mind was blank.

“Anyway, I thought I should warn you so that when Potter tells you, you at least know that I’m just as angry about it as he is.”

Hermione nodded, still trying desperately to think of something to say.

“I should go—need to tell Flint,” Draco said.

Hermione hated that his voice had lost the light tone that it had held when Draco sat down next to her. She caught his arm as he stood up.

“Wait a second.”

A ludicrous idea had formed in her mind and she gently pulled his bandaged arm over to her. She moved so Draco couldn’t see what she was doing and picked up her quill from where it lay on her essay.

“What are you—”

“Wait.”

She moved the quill gently across his bandage and when finished, smiled at her handiwork before releasing his arm. Draco stared down at it and laughed—a light, carefree sound that made Hermione beam. They both looked down at his arm. In the crook of his elbow, where it would be barely visible to anyone but Draco, was a very poorly drawn dragon, attempting to stand on an equally poorly drawn broomstick.

“You’re insane,” he said softly, smiling as he looked up from the picture to Hermione.

“You’re welcome.”

He shook his head and walked out of the library, staring down at her drawing and shaking his head. She could hear his light laughter ring out again as he stepped out of the library doors.

\---

As Draco predicted, Harry was furious about the change in match. He and Ron spent much of the following week shooting dirty looks at Draco and speaking furiously about his ‘sneaky move’. Hermione kept out of the conversations and busied herself with schoolwork—a task in which she was not short of options. The boys were soon out of opportunity to discuss their hatred of Malfoy, with Harry being required at even more quidditch practises, as Wood tried to alter their strategy to prepare for a game now against Hufflepuff.

Hermione decided it was risky to try to speak to Draco with the brewing animosity between Gryffindor and Slytherin, most of which was directed at Draco. They were only able to speak through rushed notes in Arithmancy. It was in one of these lessons that Draco began to act fidgety and nervous. He brushed off Hermione’s notes asking if he was okay. It wasn’t until the end of the lesson that he pulled a folded piece of parchment from his bag and slipped it into hers, before rushing out of the room.

Hermione waited until the end of the day to look at it, when she could go to her dormitory and not be bothered by anyone else who might see whatever note Draco had written her. When she unfolded it, however, she realised that it wasn’t a note at all—it was a drawing. It was like the one she had drawn on Draco’s bandages—although the similarities stopped there. Where Hermione’s had looked clumsy and childish, Draco had drawn carefully and in great detail. The dragon still looked goofy, balancing on a broom, but the artistry was undeniably spectacular.

Hermione had been so shocked by the picture that she hadn’t noticed a small addition to her original. Underneath the dragon, drawn in small perspective to make clear that it was far below the flying creature, was a small, bushy haired figure, reaching out an arm to the dragon. Sketched beneath the picture were the words _draco dormiens nunquam titillandus_. Hermione laughed aloud as she realised what she was attempting to do in the picture.

She stared at the picture, feeling touched by the effort Draco had put in. After a moment, she folded it and placed it down on her nightstand. As she put it down, however, she noticed a small note on the back of the page.

_Press your wand to it._

Hermione picked the page back up and slowly placed her wand on the drawing. It came to life, the dragon wobbling as the broom began zooming around the page, the occasional burst of fire shooting out of its mouth. Below the dragon, the drawing of Hermione stared up at the creature, waving her arm around furiously, calling out to it silently. Hermione stared at the page, breathless. The magic to create a picture like that was incredible. She could hardly believe that Draco had done all that just to make her laugh.

Hermione stood up, deciding on impulse to take a risk. She plucked up some parchment and a quill and rushed out of the dorm and headed out of the castle, walking towards the owlery. She reached the top and paused, unsure exactly of what she had planned to do. She thought for a moment and then bent over the parchment, her quill moving across the page quickly. When she stopped she stared down at her second horribly drawn picture. Hermione had attempted to draw the dragon again, sitting on the broom, with Hermione’s head peeking out from behind it. She had tried to draw herself sitting behind the dragon but didn’t know if her idea had translated to paper. She hesitated before adding a note clutched in the dragon’s mouth and reading _thank you._

She folded the parchment and coaxed an owl over. Securing the note to its leg, she instructed it to take the letter to Draco now and not wait until the morning. The owl flew out the window and Hermione watched it fly low over the lake and disappear from sight. She smiled out the window and let the setting sun warm her face.

\---

Draco turned up to their next Arithmancy lesson with a smile on his face and folded parchment in his hands. He didn’t look at Hermione as he slipped the parchment into the pages of the textbook she was leafing through, and stared at the front of the classroom. Hermione checked all her classmates were likewise facing the front before flicking the page concealing the parchment. She had to clap her hand over her mouth to stop herself laughing when she saw the picture and she saw the corners of Draco’s mouth twitch. Again, he had taken her clumsy artwork and made it into something remarkable. Hermione could easily identify herself, sitting awkwardly on the broom, her arm reached out to try to clasp the hand of the falling dragon. Fluttering in the wind was the note the dragon had once had clamped in its mouth.

Hermione didn’t need to press her wand to the parchment to see the image in motion this time—it was already fluttering across the page. She couldn’t understand how Draco had made the colours glitter across the dragon’s scales and stared at it in wonder for several minutes before Draco nudged her on the shoulder and to remind her that the lesson was still in progress.

It soon became a staple for Hermione and Draco to exchange drawings, continuing the story of the dragon. Occasionally the picture would be accompanied by a note, explaining what mischief the dragon had gotten into, or else continuing an earlier conversation. Hermione continued to be surprised by how Draco took her childish pictures and managed to make them into something beautiful, yet retain a goofy quality. One day Hermione decided to write the dragon’s name on the picture and thus Norbert was born. Whenever Hermione returned to her dorm with a new picture, she would make sure there was no one else in the room, before slipping it into a concealed pouch in her trunk.

The week passed quickly and before Hermione knew it, the weekend had arrived and, with it, the first quidditch match of the year. Hermione hardly saw Harry the morning of the match—he ate breakfast early and was whisked away quickly by Wood for pre-match preparations. Hermione and Ron ate together before bundling themselves underneath a giant umbrella and braving the storm outside. Hermione had cast impervius on the umbrella but it didn’t entirely stop the cold rain from reaching them. By the time they got to the stadium, they were both uncomfortably wet and hoping the match would be quick. Hermione doubted very much that she would have bothered to come to the match in this weather if Harry wasn’t playing.

As the game started, their hopes for a quick match evaporated. The players could hardly see in the storm—Hermione began wondering if Harry would even be able to spot the snitch with the raining splattering against his glasses. An idea suddenly struck her and she kicked herself for not thinking of it earlier. She wouldn’t be able to aim here—she’d need to wait for someone to call time.

The game carried on for several hours. Hermione grew more and more impatient at not being able to help. She leapt out of her chair when she saw that Wood had called for a time-out. She ignored Ron’s yell after her as she ran down the stadium stairs, pulling her cloak over her head to protect herself from the rain. The team was huddled under a large umbrella and Hermione ran up behind Harry.

“I’ve had an idea, Harry! Give me your glasses, quick!”

He handed them over, bemused. She tapped them, casting impervious and handed them back to Harry, informing him that they should now repel water. He put them on uncertainly, then turned to beam at her. Hermione ran back into the crowd, not wanting to get in trouble for standing with the team.

The game carried on and the storm only worsened. Hermione and Ron huddled together, soaked through and shivering. Hermione couldn’t help but feel proud of herself when she saw Harry fly around, his vision clearly improved. He ducked and weaved through players and bludgers alike, head swivelling as he searched for the snitch. Hermione gasped as she saw Diggory speed off suddenly, apparently having spotted the snitch. Harry turned around and gave chase.

“C’mon Harry,” Ron muttered.

And then the stadium fell silent. All around her Hermione could see people shouting, but their voices seemed muffled and distant. The wind whipped her hair, but she couldn’t hear it anymore. People slowly began staring around, whether confused by the sudden quiet, or feeling the unnatural chill that began to spread across the stadium. Hermione knew what was happening before Ron grabbed her arm and whispered in her ear.

Dementors were gliding into the stadium, not just one as it had been on the train, but a whole crowd, so large it seemed impossible to count them all. Hermione cried out, staring up at Harry. She looked between Harry and the dementors frantically—was it just her or did they seem fixated on him? Were the faceless heads pointed up at him? Hermione saw Harry fall limp on his broom and tilt off the side, plunging to the ground fifty feet below him.

\---

The hospital wing was crowded with the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Ron and Hermione all trying to stand around Harry’s bed. They were all dripping onto the ground, creating a large puddle that Hermione maybe would have worried about if she wasn’t fixated on Harry. The team was talking about his fall but Hermione couldn’t bring herself to join in. Harry’s eyes snapped open and Fred cried out.

“What happened?” he asked, sitting up so quickly that Hermione was surprised he didn’t pass out again.

The team cautiously told him about his fall. Hermione felt her eyes fill with tears, letting out a small moan when Angelina described that as they watched him hit the ground. Harry apparently was less affected by this and asked instead about the outcome of the match. Everyone looked around uncomfortably, not wanting to be the one to tell him they had lost. His devastated face at the news pulled at Hermione’s heart and she felt she might start crying again.

After several minutes of the team attempting to comfort Harry, they were shooed out by Madam Pomfrey. Ron and Hermione were permitted to stay and they finished filling him in about what had happened when the dementors entered the pitch. Once they had explained, Harry paused before asking the question they had been dreading most.

“Did someone get my Nimbus?”

Hermione and Ron shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to deliver this final blow. Hermione spoke first.

“Well…when you fell off, it got blown away.”

“And?” Harry pressed

Hermione tried her best to continue.

“And it hit—it hit—oh, Harry—it hit the Whomping Willow.”

“And?” he repeated. Hermione looked to Ron to help her. He seemed to be finding it just as difficult to deliver the news

“Well, you know the Whomping Willow. It—it doesn’t like being hit.”

Hermione reached for the bag at her feet, deciding it was best to just get it over with, rather than drag out this painful conversation. She turned the bag upside down and tipped the splintered wood onto Harry’s bed, not looking at him but unable to block out his groan as he stared at his beloved broom.

Hermione and Ron tried their best to assure Harry that he could buy another broom, that he could get one just as good as his Nimbus, but he was so downhearted that they both gave up after a few minutes. They chose instead to distract him with other stories from the morning that he had missed in his pre-match preparation. Harry remained forlorn—not even recounting how the wind had swept up Colin Creevey’s umbrella and blown him across three rows could make him smile.

At dinner-time, Madam Pomfrey returned with a tray full of potions and shooed Ron and Hermione from the room. They bade their goodbyes to a dejected-looking Harry and tried not to feel guilty as the Hospital Wing doors shut behind them.

“Want to go get dinner, then?” Ron suggested, “We’ll be late but they should still be serving it.”

“Yeah, good idea—I have to go to the bathroom, though. I’ll meet you there.”

Ron nodded and headed in the direction of the Great Hall. Hermione began walking towards the bathroom, but she could feel the tears escaping before she reached it. She clamped a hand over her mouth to hold in a sob and bent her head low. She couldn’t be seen wandering the halls like this, she needed to make it to the bathroom. At least then she could blame the noise on Myrtle.

Hermione didn’t even register that there was someone else in the corridor until she bumped right into him. She wiped her eyes hurriedly and looked up to see Draco staring down at her, concern written on his face.

“Hermione—are you okay?”

Apparently she hadn’t been as successful at hiding her tears as she thought.

“Yeah,” she said in a squeaky voice that sounded nothing like her own. “Yeah I’m—fine. It’s nothing—”

Her words were broken off by a strangled sob. It took Hermione a moment to realise the sound had come from her and tears were streaming down her face again. She couldn’t stand to look at Draco when she was in this state and she averted her eyes from him, trying to focus on her shoes. She could feel the sobs heaving, her whole body crying—the more she tried to stop herself, the larger they seemed to come. Hermione felt herself sinking lower—she was surely going to collapse on the floor.

A pair of arms caught her as she crumbled, and drew her in, circling her in their warmth. Her head was rising and falling in time with slow and steady breaths. She tried to time hers to it, breathing in and out, the sobs still racking through her body. Slowly, they grew further and further apart and her breathing evened out. She felt the arms around her relax—she hadn’t realised how tightly they had been holding her—and a gentle hand stroked her back, a soothing voice in her ear.

Hermione shifted her head up to look at Draco, who was staring back down at her intently. She suddenly realised they were standing in the middle of a corridor and she pulled back, almost instantly missing the brief moment of comfort. She slid down the wall to sit on the floor, too exhausted to think of finding somewhere secluded to speak—Draco was surely waiting for an explanation. She felt Draco slide down next to her and knew she should say something—thank him or at least apologise—but her mind was blank.

“How is he?” Draco asked, his voice soft.

“He’s—he’s okay,” she said in a small voice, “he came to an hour or so ago.”

“That’s good. Have you spoken to him?”

“Yeah. Pomfrey let us stay with him until he had to have dinner and his potions.”

“And you?”

“Me?”

“How are you?”

“Oh, I’m brilliant.” Hermione tried to sound sarcastic, but was betrayed by a tremor in her voice. She gave up that attempt and tried to answer his question. “I’m—I’m okay.”

“Okay? You sure?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

Hermione felt defensive and opened her mouth to argue but found herself unable to when faced with his worried expression.

“I guess not. I just keep picturing it in my mind, I keep seeing him fall. I really thought—when he hit the ground, I really—I really thought he was—he was…”

Hermione could feel the hysteria welling up within her again and she felt Draco reach his arm around her and pull her into him.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he said soothingly, “Harry’s okay. You don’t need to say it. Harry’s safe now—he’ll be back to normal in a couple of days.”

“I just can’t stand the thought of him not being around,” she choked out.

“You won’t have to worry about that. Dumbledore won’t let something like that happen again.”

Hermione nodded, trying to convince herself that his words were true. She couldn’t think of anything to say, so she sat there for a few minutes, taking in the comfort of Draco beside her and his calming words. She felt herself calm down and remembered she was supposed to be joining Ron in the Great Hall for dinner.

“I should probably go to dinner. Ron’s waiting.”

An odd look crossed Draco’s face, but Hermione was too exhausted to give it a second thought. He stood up and reached out his hand to Hermione. She grabbed a hold of it and allowed him to pull her up. They walked towards the Great Hall silently and, though Hermione knew it was risky to be walking together like this, she could not help but indulge herself in this moment of comfort. Draco’s presence beside her as they walked reminded her of her words and she found herself thinking that, maybe, things would be okay.


	8. Snowballs and Secrets

By Monday morning, Harry had been let out of the Hospital Wing and was already brushing off Hermione’s concerns. She tried to be irritated at his lack of care, but was far too relieved to see him back to normal for it to be genuine. Hermione noticed a sorrowful expression cross his face a few times when he seemed lost in thought and she suspected he was thinking about his Nimbus. She couldn’t understand his attachment to the broom but knew it was more than just his love of Quidditch. Harry didn’t often speak about his home outside of Hogwarts, but from what he had said Hermione had gathered he didn’t have a lot—she suspected his broom was one of his few prized possessions. She was unable to do anything to bring the broom back, but tried her best to cheer him up when she noticed him withdraw.

Hermione hadn’t seen Draco again since she had dumped her worries on him after the match. She felt too embarrassed to seek him out and having spent most of her time with Harry and Ron in the Hospital Wing, she didn’t have much opportunity to cross paths with him. She had been increasingly dreading Arithmancy as it drew closer, knowing she would see him and be expected to give some sort of explanation. She felt unprepared to speak to him then, let alone when he pulled her into an empty classroom on her way to lunch.

She stared around at the rows of desks, disoriented. She had just travelled forward after a morning class to catch up to where she should be and had only been thinking of catching up with herself, not about watching who was around her. Now she stood in a classroom, the sound of students walking to lunch outside the door and Draco staring at her from across the room. Her hand jumped to her neck, checking she had remembered to conceal the time turner. Draco was watching her curiously and she dropped her hand. She flushed, feeling even more embarrassed than she already was to be with him. She was sure he was waiting for her to speak and give him an explanation but she couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked, grinning.

Hermione stared at him—was he enjoying her embarrassment? She felt defensive and tried to say something to explain herself, but no words came out. He held up his arm and Hermione stared at him bewildered. She gasped.

“Your bandages!”

“Got them off yesterday,” he said, still smiling.

“That’s great! How is it?”

“Completely healed!” he paused. “Okay well mostly healed—there’s still some scarring but Pomfrey reckons most of it will fade.”

Hermione stepped forward to look at his arm. The scarring travelling up his arm in messy lines.

“So, it doesn’t hurt anymore?” she said, not taking her eyes off the deep marks etched into his skin.

“Nope! I’m free to do whatever I want with it now.”

“You can play quidditch again!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Yep, I’ve just told Flint!”

“He must have been happy.”

Draco shifted uncomfortably and looked away from her.

“Actually that’s the other thing I had to talk to you about.”

“About Flint?”

“Sort of.”

“What about him?”

“Uh—well, he’s still not exactly happy with me.”

“Why?”

“Because we had to forfeit.”

“But you didn’t have to play in the rain—and you didn’t have to play with the dementors. Surely he’s happy about that.”

“Well yeah, I think so, but he doesn’t like how forfeiting makes us look—he says we looked weak because we didn’t play in difficult conditions.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“So, he’s giving you a hard time just because of that?”

“Not just because of that. I haven’t been able to train for a couple of months and the team has been training a player down. It’s completely messed up our chances at the cup.”

Draco met Hermione’s eyes for a second then looked away. Hermione realised the point Draco was getting to and felt a weight drop in her stomach.

“What’s he wanting you to do?” she asked in a low voice.

Draco looked up at her and Hermione knew from his nervous expression she had guessed right.

“He wants us to look strong again—to appear threatening to the other teams.”

“And how does he want you to do that?” Hermione pressed.

Draco gave her a look that told her that her suspicions were correct.

“Harry?” she breathed.

Draco nodded. “He’s a hero now—surviving that fall. Flint doesn’t want him to be a hero.”

“And you’re the one that has to make that clear.”

Draco looked down at his feet. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be. I understand—or I’m trying to.”

Draco still didn’t look up at her so she reached out and placed her hand on his arm.

“Draco?”

He looked up at her, looking as though he was bracing himself for her to scream.

“Draco, it’s okay.”

“It isn’t though—that fall was awful, I don’t want to have to make fun of him for it.”

“I know. Is there—is there any way around it?”

“No. It’s not as though you get given options—you don’t even get told anything explicitly. You just—know?”

“How?”

“I don’t know—I guess it’s how a lot of us were raised. You learn to pick up subtle cues and if you miss them—well, you learn pretty quickly not to miss them.”

“It must be horrible, growing up like that,” Hermione said in a soft voice.

“It’s not all bad. My parents do love me and they try to be good parents—most of the time they’re doing it because they think it’s what’s best for me. It’s the way they were raised too, it’s hard to break out of it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it is. Do you think the other Slytherins are doing it because it’s what’s best for you?” Hermione asked cautiously.

Draco hesitated, mulling over her question.

“I guess I hope they are. At least that it’s what’s best for all of us. But there are a lot of people who I think would choose their own agenda over me at any moment.” He paused again, looking uncertain. “That’s not fair to say about all of them though. I do have friends in Slytherin and we care about each other. It’s not always like people are forcing you to do things, it’s just we know what’s expected and I guess we just force that on each other without meaning to in our attempt to live up to it ourselves.”

“It’s a lot to live up to. A lot of pressure.”

“Yeah, it is. I’m sorry about Harry.”

“Thanks—I know you are.” Hermione sensed he wasn’t just saying he was sorry about Harry’s accident.

“Is he doing better?”

Hermione was surprised by Draco’s question about Harry. She hadn’t expected him to care enough about Harry to want to know.

“Yeah, loads better. He’s out of the Hospital Wing today.”

“That’s fantastic—I thought Pomfrey would have him there for a week.”

“She probably would if she could, but Harry is not very good at keeping still. He probably would have driven her mad if he stayed for a whole week.”

Draco laughed and Hermione was surprised at how easy it seemed for him to brush off what they had just spoken about, but she found herself unable to stop herself from joining in. Draco stopped laughing and fixed her with an intense stare. Hermione found herself unable to hold his gaze.

“Are you doing better?”

Hermione looked up at him sharply. She thought he had decided not to bring it up, to save her the embarrassment of having to explain herself.

“I’m fine now. About the other night—”

“You don’t need to explain, I get it. You were worried about your friend.”

Hermione stared at him, perplexed—why was he asking her if he wasn’t seeking an explanation? Did he really just want to know if she was okay?

“Thanks. Yeah, I’m okay. I feel a lot better now that Harry’s out of the Hospital Wing. He doesn’t let anyone fuss over him, which has actually helped—it makes me forget how bad it was. When he was in the Hospital Wing I just kept thinking about what a close call it was.”

“Of course, but he’s alright now.”

“Yeah, he is.”

The sound of loud voices outside the door caused them both to look up, alarmed. They stared at the door cautiously. After a minute, the voices faded and Draco and Hermione looked at each other in relief.

“We should probably go,” Hermione said.

“Good idea. You first.”

Hermione nodded and walked to the door, waving her goodbye as she shut it behind her.

\---

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Hermione found herself barely able to keep up with her increasing schoolwork, even with the time-turner. She felt as though she was constantly studying and was so focused on her schoolwork that she began to lose track of her timing. Luckily, she had smoothed over any slips caused when she mistimed her travels, but her worries about making a mistake with the time turner were now becoming almost as prevalent in her mind as her worries about her schoolwork.

She was thankful that, being occupied, she was able to avoid most of the confrontations between Harry and Draco, or at least busy herself in a book when they occurred. It was unpleasant to witness but Hermione found herself unable to spend much time getting upset over it. She supposed this was a good thing—at least she could easily maintain both friendships. Hermione hardly even had time to do this—her conversations with all her friends had been brief and fleeting at best. If she had time, she was sure she would feel guilty about it.

The term was nearing an end and Hermione was determined to have all her work finished and handed in. She found herself studying in the common room until late into the night, not even noticing the people trickling out of the room as the hour grew later. She had gotten far better at blocking out the noise of loud Gryffindors when she was so focused on her work.

Hermione was spending another long Friday night in the common room studying. She was trying to get enough work finished so that she could have the day off to go into Hogsmeade the following day, though she knew it meant she would be writing essays well into the night. She was so caught up in her work that she hardly noticed when someone sat down beside her. After a minute of amending her essay, Hermione looked up and saw Ginny, apparently waiting for her to stop writing so she could speak.

“I know you’re busy, but can I interrupt for a moment?” Ginny asked when Hermione looked away from her essay.

Hermione nodded tiredly.

“I never thanked you for the other night,” she said, watching Hermione carefully. “It really helped—I had a great night’s sleep.”

“Have the nightmares stopped?” Hermione asked, her voice hopeful.

Ginny’s face fell. “Uh—no, they haven’t, but they’re better. Not as often—and I’m less scared to go to sleep now.”

“That’s really good,” said Hermione, her attention now focused entirely on Ginny.

“Yeah, I’ve had some good nights,” Ginny agreed. “It really helped what you said—I needed someone to remind me that he can’t reach me. I was so scared he would control me again.”

“He can’t get you to you,” Hermione affirmed. “Just keep reminding yourself you’re safe.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Hermione nodded again and turned back to her work. Ginny, however, reached for her arm and pulled Hermione’s book out of her reach. Hermione stared at her, bemused.

“I’ve decided you’re studying too much,” Ginny said matter-of-factly.

Hermione reached for her book. “What?” she asked, dazed.

“You. Are. Studying. Too. Much.” Ginny said, dropping the book out of Hermione’s reach.

“No, I’m not,” Hermione said dismissively, pulling another book towards her. Ginny pulled that book from her grip too.

“Hermione, I see you here every night. I don’t even know when you get to sleep but I hate to think of how late it is. You need to take a rest.”

“I’ll rest tomorrow at Hogsmeade.”

“You’ll be too exhausted to enjoy it if you stay up all night studying!”

Hermione tried to think of a comeback, but her mind was still on her essay.

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t. Just do me a favour and go to bed now. Almost everyone has gone up to bed, you ought to as well.”

“I just need to finish—”

“No. You don’t need to finish anything.” She sighed at Hermione’s scandalised look. “You’ll have time to finish it, you know it doesn’t all have to be perfect.”

Hermione knew it did need to be perfect but she couldn’t explain why to Ginny. She needed to excel this year because she had been trusted to—McGonagall had vouched that she would.

“C’mon, you know I’m right,” Ginny teased.

Hermione needed to finish her essay.

“No, I need to finish it.”

“Hermione, it’s okay to leave it. I know you’ve probably planned for it all to be finished days before its due anyway. Give yourself a break.”

Hermione shook her head.

“You can do it tomorrow night, after Hogsmeade or on Sunday. I’ll sit with you and make sure it all gets done but right now you need to stop. I’m saving your sanity.”

“But—”

“Nope. Stop.”

Hermione was tired. She sagged in her chair, dropping her quill—she had no energy to continue this argument.

“Good,” said Ginny, pleased, “time for bed, then?”

Hermione nodded vaguely in response, but didn’t move.

“Or we can stay here for a bit,” Ginny said, trying not to laugh at the vegetative state her friend was in.

“It’s so far.”

Ginny laughed and shook her head.

“Alright, a little longer—then you have to go to bed.”

“Fine.”

“How have things been with your friend?”

Ginny’s question surprised Hermione. She hadn’t expected Ginny to remember or ask about Draco—not that she knew who she was asking about.

“It’s good now. We talked and I listened to what they had to say. I took your advice and focused on the good and things have been—well, good.”

“That’s…good?”

Hermione laughed with Ginny at her own inability to form a proper sentence. Maybe Ginny was right to stop her studying—if this is how she’s speaking then she probably wouldn’t have written a decent essay.

“Alright, I think that’s a sign for you to go to bed,” Ginny said firmly.

Ginny reached to pick up Hermione’s textbooks and the parchment she had strewn across the table. Hermione stood up and followed Ginny up the stairs to her dorm. Ginny dumped Hermione’s work beside the bed, told Hermione to sleep and left to go to her own dorm. Exhausted, Hermione got under the covers and fell almost instantly into a deep sleep.

\---

Hermione awoke the next morning feeling refreshed for the first time in weeks. She went to breakfast early with Harry and Ron and they were joined by Ginny when she came down later. Ginny didn’t ask Hermione about the night before, but Hermione felt her eyes on her as she was eating breakfast. Hermione spoke energetically with the boys in the hopes that it would assuage any of her worries.

Hermione struggled to leave Harry again after breakfast, knowing she was leaving him to spend the day alone. She had briefly considered staying with him, but she had already planned on doing her Christmas shopping in Hogsmeade. She tried to comfort herself with the fact that they would all be spending Christmas together at Hogwarts. She and Ron made a decision a few weeks before the end of term—they didn’t want to leave Harry alone at Hogwarts. She would hate if something happened to him when the castle was practically empty and she couldn’t stand the idea of him spending Christmas alone. She and Ron had each thought of an excuse for why they were staying so that Harry wouldn’t feel pitied and she wasn’t entirely sure he believed them, but he didn’t say anything.

They bade Harry and Ginny goodbye in the Entrance Hall again and began the walk to Hogsmeade in the snow. Hermione couldn’t help but feel happy as they walked through the snow—it was her favourite time of year and she laughed loudly when Ron hit her with a snowball from behind. She reached into the snow to form a snowball and throw it back at him, hitting him squarely in the back of the head.

“Oh I’m so—sorry!” she gasped, trying her hardest to hold in her laughter as Ron whipped his head around to stare at her, “I swear—I was aiming for your back!”

“You have terrible aim!” he cried out, picking up a handful of snow and flinging it at her.

She laughed and ran ahead to the village, Ron chasing after her and pelting snowballs that she dodged quickly. He caught up to her at the village, wheezing and laughing.

“I am so going to get you back for that.”

“I think you did.”

“Nope—I barely even got you!”

“Well you started it anyway!”

“Oh, that’s a strong argument.”

They both laughed again and stood catching their breath. Hermione looked around the village, remembering the shops and which ones she wanted to visit. As she scanned the storefronts, she noticed Draco staring at her from the doorway of Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop.

“What does Malfoy want?” said Ron, following her gaze.

“Probably nothing, he’s just being a prat,” she said dismissively.

She turned away from Draco and walked up the village path.

“So, where do you want to go first?” she said, hoping Ron wouldn’t notice the change in subject.

“How about Dervish and Banges, then Honeydukes? You said you wanted to go there right?” Ron asked.

“Uh—yeah I did. Thanks,” Hermione said, distracted.

She was still thinking of the look on Draco’s face. She knew he had to keep up appearances but the look of anger on his face was so real she found it hard to imagine he was that good an actor. She pushed the thought out of her mind—of course he was just acting. He had no reason to be angry at her.

Hermione and Ron each bought a few things they needed in Dervish and Banges, before going to Honeydukes. They walked over to the shop, already discussing which sweets they were thinking of getting. Hermione wanted to get her parents some of the Toothflossing Stringmints and Ron was eager to try some new candies Fred and George had told him about, though he was still debating whether or not to trust their recommendation.

“I was thinking we should get Harry some sweets, too—for Christmas and since he can’t come,” Hermione said to Ron.

“Good idea! Which ones do you reckon he’ll like?”

They roamed the aisles of lollies together, pulling out packets to show each other, trying to choose which ones Harry would like the most.

“How about Fizzing Whizzbees?” Hermione asked, holding up a handful.

“Yeah, he’ll love those!” said Ron enthusiastically.

Hermione put them in a basket and they walked over to the unusual tastes section. Ron held up a deep-red lollipop.

“Ugh, no, Harry won’t want those, they’re for vampires, I expect,” said Hermione, shaking her head.

“How about these?” Ron said, picking up a jar of cockroach clusters and putting them under Hermione’s nose. She jumped back, disgusted, and Ron laughed at her.

“Definitely not,” came a voice from behind them.

Hermione and Ron whipped their heads around and stared. Harry was standing right behind them.

“ _Harry!_ ” Hermione cried, “What are you doing here? How—how did you?”

“Wow! You’ve learned to apparate” said Ron.

Hermione gave him a withering look before turning her attention back to Harry, who explained to them that Fred and George had given him a map that helped him out of the castle. Hermione could hardly believe what he was telling her and as he continued, she became increasingly concerned. Ron did not seem to share this concern—he was only upset that Fred and George had never shared the map with him. As soon as he was finished Hermione told him what she was thinking.

“But Harry isn’t going to keep it! He’s going to hand it in to Professor McGonagall, aren’t you, Harry?” Hermione could hardly believe Ron was encouraging Harry to use the map.

“No, I’m not!” Harry said and Hermione stared at him aghast, ignoring Ron’s questions.

“But what about Sirius Black? He could be using one of the passages on that map to get into the castle! The teachers have got to know.”

Harry tried to explain that the passages were either blocked or already known but Hermione still felt uncertain—they couldn’t know for certain that the teachers knew about them. What if Black found a way to get past one of the blocked ones? She didn’t want to admit it to him, but she was also hesitant about him even being in Hogsmeade—she knew the teachers didn’t want him to come to the village for a reason and it felt foolish to go against that. Was Harry putting himself at risk by coming into the wizarding village?

Hermione’s thoughts were interrupted by Ron clearing his throat and pointing to a sign on the window. It warned shoppers and residents that dementors would be patrolling the village.

“See? I’d like to see Black try and break into Honeydukes with Dementors swarming all over the village. Anyway, Hermione, the Honeydukes owners would hear a break-in, wouldn’t they? They live over the shop!”

Hermione hesitated, still unsure. She tried to express this to Harry and Ron, speaking cautiously, but Ron dismissed her worries. Hermione stared between them, trying to decide whether to continue the argument.

“Are you going to report me?” Harry asked her, a smile on his face.

Hermione knew she couldn’t do that and, looking at Harry’s smiling face, she found it difficult to argue with him. He did deserve to have a break and she supposed if he had been given permission he would be coming into the village anyway. She gave one last stammered attempt at an argument, her heart not really in it, before Ron pulled Harry away to look at the sweet shop.

Hermione found herself unable to be too worried when she was with her two best friends in Hogsmeade. They took Harry out of the sweet shop after a while and showed him around some of the other storefronts, until Ron suggested they get a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks to warm up.

Ron went to get butterbeers as soon as they entered and returned merrily to the table a short while later. They drank their butterbeers together, Hermione and Ron eager to see Harry’s reaction. He took a deep gulp and smiled at them, gushing about how brilliant it was. Hermione and Ron agreed and drank from their own tankards. They were joking about Seamus falling asleep and rolling straight out of his chair in the most recent History of Magic lesson when Harry suddenly choked on his drink, looking at the door with panic written on his face. Hermione turned around to look at the entrance and saw a group of professors accompanied by the Minister of Magic. Hermione and Ron moved at the same time, reaching to the top of Harry’s head and shoving him under the table. Hermione lifted her wand and whispered an incantation to move the Christmas tree in front of them so that they would be blocked from view.

Hermione bit back a groan when she noticed how close the new arrivals had chosen to sit. She stared, horrified at Ron but didn’t dare speak. Surely, they didn’t know Harry was here? She leaned over slightly to try to hear their conversation—it appeared as though they were ordering drinks. Hermione let out a small sigh of relief—they were here socially, not on duty. Her body remained stiff however, terrified that the teachers would notice her.

Hermione and Ron sat, frozen and staring at each other as they listened to the horrors of the teacher’s conversation with the Minister for Magic. Hermione felt enraged that they were discussing the sensitive details of Harry’s life where anyone could overhear it. She could hardly imagine what Harry was thinking, hearing of the horrors of Sirius Black’s crimes, worsened by the new discovery of his friendship with Harry’s father and the fact that he was Harry’s godfather. Hermione thought Harry being chased by a crazed mass murderer was horrible enough, but this was a whole different level. How do you respond to knowing the person who your parents trusted most is the reason they are dead and is now determined to ensure you receive the same fate?

A memory suddenly clicked into place in Hermione’s head. It was Draco, talking about Black, talking as though he knew more to the story than they had been told. What did he say? _If it was me, I’d have done something before now._

Hermione felt suddenly cold. Draco _knew_. He knew that Black and Harry’s father had been best friends, he knew that Black was Harry’s godfather. Had he been trying to warn Harry? Why hadn’t he warned her? Why hadn’t he told her what he knew after Black broke in on Halloween? She remembered how awkward he had been in those conversations after the break in—as though he had been concealing something. It all made sense now, yet Hermione could not understand or comprehend what Draco had been thinking.

The sound of the teachers’ chairs sliding across the floor broke Hermione’s thoughts. She looked up to see them walking out of the inn. She and Ron stared at each other for a moment in shock, before leaning to poke their heads under the table simultaneously.

“Harry?” they said together. Harry simply stared at them, their own shock mirrored on his face tenfold.

\---

Hermione and Ron were tentative to leave Harry, but he couldn’t come back to the school with them and they couldn’t go back through the Honeydukes passage—Filch would raise the alarm if they seemed to not turn up. They went with him to Honeydukes, none of them talking much, Hermione and Ron exchanging worried looks. Harry looked a million worlds away as he bade them goodbye. Hermione and Ron shared a sombre walk back to Hogwarts. Neither seemed sure what to say, both trying to understand what they had overheard. Ron attempted to express his worries aloud a few times, trying to speculate about what Black’s plans could be, but Hermione couldn’t will herself to talk about it—the thought of what this new horror meant for Harry was entirely consuming her mind. She had thought that Black could get no worse, that he was the lowest of all criminals—she could never have guessed this evil. There was only one question on Hermione’s mind and when Ron asked it, she found herself unable to answer.

“What do we do? About Harry, I mean? For Harry?”

Hermione slowed her pace and a few students hurried past them. Hermione looked at them laughing and recalled how carefree she and Ron had been on the walk into Hogsmeade—in a few hours so much had changed.

“I don’t know,” she replied, still watching the laughing students.

Ron glanced at the students, then back at her.

“You know what his reaction is going to be, right?”

“Yep. He’s going to want to go after Black.”

“He can’t do that,” said Ron, irritated.

“Well I know that—but when have either of us been successful in stopping him?”

Ron didn’t respond, staring ahead thoughtfully. “He’s safe in the school, isn’t he? People are watching him, so it’s not like he can run off and chase Black?”

“Well, Black has already broken in once—what if that happens again and Harry tries to find him?”

Ron swore.

“What do we do then? Warn the professors? He’d be furious though,” asked Ron uncertainly.

“We’d have to admit how he found out then and he’d end up in a lot of trouble.”

Ron looked relieved. “What then?” he pressed.

Hermione thought for a moment, trying to think of any alternative for the inevitable. Unable to think of any, she took a deep breath before speaking.

“We’ll have to speak to him about it—try to convince him not to do anything stupid.”

“Yeah, phrase it like that, that’ll go down well.”

Hermione gave Ron an exasperated look. “Obviously not, but you know what I mean.”

Ron nodded. “When?” was all he said.

“Tomorrow morning?” Hermione hated the thought of having to broach the topic again that soon but knew it was the only logical thing to do.

“That soon?” Ron asked, her own apprehension reflected on his face.

“I don’t want to do it then either, but it means he won’t have time to form some plan. It’ll be much harder to dissuade him if he already has his mind set on what he wants to do. Besides, it’ll be the first day of break—there won’t be much chance of being overheard.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Ron begrudgingly.

“Tomorrow?”

Tomorrow.”

\---

The next morning Ron met Hermione in the common room for breakfast, without Harry.

“Where’s Harry?”

“Still sleeping. I don’t reckon he got to sleep until late—not surprising, really. Figured I’d let him sleep in—no need to wake him just to remind him of yesterday.”

Hermione agreed and they decided to get breakfast together, then go back to the common room to wait for Harry. The Great Hall was almost empty—it seemed very few students had decided to stay over the Christmas break. Hermione supposed a lot of parents didn’t want their children staying at Hogwarts after the Sirius Black break-in. It was lucky her parents were Muggles and Ron’s were so trusting of Dumbledore.

They continued to plan how to broach the subject of Black with Harry over breakfast and up to the Gryffindor common room. After much discussion, they had exhausted the subject and decided there was no more they could do but wait for Harry. Hermione went upstairs to fetch her homework—she had taken time off, as she had promised Ginny, but now she needed to catch up on work so that she was ready for the upcoming term. Ron fetched some sweets he had bought the day before and sat down to eat them, insisting that she spent too much time studying.

By the time Harry came down, Hermione’s work had been spread across three tables and Ron began to complain of a stomach-ache. Hermione looked up sharply when she saw Harry come down the stairs.

“Harry, you—you look terrible,” Hermione said, concerned.

Harry’ face was pale, except for the dark circles under his eyes. He had the same far-off look in his eyes that had been there the day before. He looked uncomfortable at her comment and Hermione felt a twinge of guilt—it seemed Ron was right and Harry hadn’t slept much last night.

“Where is everyone?”

Hermione and Ron both stared at Harry, before Ron explained it was the first day of holidays. Hermione watched Harry carefully as he fell into a chair beside the fire—apparently he was so distracted, he had forgotten that holidays started. She thought she should suggest he went back to bed and try to get a decent sleep.

“You really, don’t look well, you know,” Hermione said, hoping Harry would take the excuse and go to bed.

“I’m fine,” he said, brushing off her concern. She should have known Harry wouldn’t accept any pity.

Hermione looked over at Ron, who was watching her anxiously. She knew he was waiting for her to begin the conversation. She could feel it hanging in the air between them and took a deep breath before speaking.

“Harry, listen,” she paused, trying to recall how she and Ron had decided to broach the topic—she seemed to be already forgetting the plan. “You must be really upset about what we heard yesterday. But the thing is, you mustn’t go doing anything stupid.”

Ron shot her a look and Hermione felt like kicking herself—that was the one thing Ron said not to say. She was supposed to phrase it far more gently than that. Harry stared at them, his face set in a harsh expression.

“Like what?” he asked, his voice slow and careful.

Ron jumped in, most likely trying to prevent Hermione from saying something wrong again.

“Like trying to go after Black.”

Harry continued to stare at them, not replying.

“You won’t, will you Harry?” said Hermione, unable to stand his lack of response—surely, he didn’t already have a plan that they would have to dissuade him from?

“Black’s not worth dying for,” said Ron and Hermione felt relieved—that was a point they have discussed. It seemed at least Ron was able to recall the plan—Hermione felt too flustered to remember their carefully thought out conversation.

Harry looked at them, furious—their words were having no effect. She turned away as Harry described to them his experience of dementors. She hadn’t known it was his parent’s deaths he heard. She tried desperately to think of a sensible argument. Words tumbled out of her mouth hurriedly, trying to make him see reason that felt entirely unreasonable the more he spoke.

“There’s nothing you can do! The dementors will catch Black and he’ll go to Azkaban and—and serve him right!”

“You heard what Fudge said. Black isn’t affected by Azkaban like normal people are. It’s not a punishment for him like it is for the others.” Harry said the point matter-of-factly, as though he had already anticipated their arguments.

Ron stared at Harry with concern.

“So what are you saying? You want to kill Black or something?”

“Don’t be silly,” Hermione said, her voice shrill, “Harry doesn’t want to kill anyone, do you, Harry?”

Harry didn’t answer and Hermione felt her panic build up inside her—did Harry want to kill Black? She and Ron hadn’t anticipated that, though they should have considered what Harry would do if he caught Black. Hermione tried to think of something to say, something to smooth over the situation, but her mind was almost entirely consumed by her panic. Harry spoke again, abruptly changing the course of conversation.

“Malfoy knows. Remember what he said to me in Potions? ‘If it was me, I’d hunt him down myself…I’d want revenge.’”

Hermione felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. She hadn’t had a chance to give Draco’s comments in potions another thought. She had no idea what they meant—if he was taunting Harry or warning him. If he had been trying to warn him then why not tell her? Why not warn her? She didn’t hear Ron’s furious response, or Harry’s equally heated response. Her mind spiralled, trying to understand what Draco had been doing. She felt her eyes brim with tears and couldn’t place whether it was the thought of Draco lying to her or Harry being in danger again that brought them on. She turned to Harry, desperate to make him understand.

“Harry, please—please be sensible. Black did a terrible, terrible thing, but d-don’t put yourself in danger, it’s what Black wants… Oh, Harry, you’d be playing right into Black’s hands if you went looking for him. Your mum and dad wouldn’t want you to get hurt, would they? They’d never want you to go looking for Black!” It was a last ditch effort to appeal to what Harry’s parents would want for him. Hermione and Ron had discussed it, sure it would work in grounding him if he seemed set on attacking Black.

“I’ll never know what they’d have wanted, because thanks to Black, I’ve never spoken to them,” Harry said coolly and Hermione froze. She had no idea how to respond to that—she and Ron had never anticipated this.

Apparently Ron was taken aback too—he tried to cheerfully suggest seeing Hagrid, apparently attempting to take Harry’s mind of the subject. Harry jumped on the idea and Hermione felt relieved for a moment, before Harry declared he was going to grill Hagrid about the subject instead. Ron tried to change Harry’s mind, suggesting a game of chess, but as usual, once Harry’s mind was set it was almost impossible to dissuade him.

They bundled up and all walked through the snow to Hagrid’s together. It seemed as though Hagrid was out, until they heard an odd groaning sound from inside the cabin. Harry called out and Hagrid came to open the door. He looked almost worse than Harry—his eyes were red and puffy, tears trickling down his face. Upon seeing the three of them at his door, Hagrid flung himself around Harry, who nearly collapsed under his weight. Hermione and Ron reached around to pull Hagrid off Harry and direct him to a seat in the cabin, where he continued to sob uncontrollably.

“Hagrid, what is it?” Hermione asked, shocked by his behaviour.

Harry picked up a letter on the table and asked Hagrid about it, which sent Hagrid into a fresh chorus of wails. He pushed the letter to Harry, who picked it up and read it aloud for Ron and Hermione. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Hagrid was being forced to attend a hearing with Buckbeak about the attack on Draco. Lucius Malfoy had made an official complaint. Did Draco know? Is this something else he had neglected to tell her? More than ever she felt the need to find him and talk to him, yet now she could not. Draco was home for Christmas. His family were probably celebrating over the trouble they were causing.

Ron’s attempts to comfort Hagrid were disrupted by the sound of crunching bones. Harry, Ron and Hermione turned to see Buckbeak sitting in the corner on Hagrid’s bed. They stared at Hagrid, aghast, but none of them had the heart to disagree when Hagrid insisted he couldn’t leave him in the cold at Christmas. Hermione tried to continue Ron’s encouragement.

“You’ll have to put up a good strong defence, Hagrid. I’m sure you can prove Buckbeak is safe.” She spoke cheerfully, trying to make it sound easy and as though she was entirely confident—which, truth be told, she wasn’t.

Hagrid wouldn’t agree with her despite her attempts to convince him. He was convinced the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures had it in for creatures and was sure Lucius Malfoy was persuading them to act against Buckbeak. Hermione tried to comfort him but could not help thinking the situation seemed desperate. Harry joined in, trying to convince Hagrid to ask Dumbledore for help, but Hagrid only said Dumbledore had done enough and didn’t want to involve him. Eventually Ron offered to make a cup of tea, insisting it was what his mother did when people were upset.

Surprisingly, the cup of tea seemed to help and after several more minutes of trying to convince Hagrid they could help Buckbeak, he began to calm down. It seemed Buckbeak was not the only thing on his mind—Hagrid explained to them his worries about his classes and having to see the dementors at Hogwarts. Harry, Ron and Hermione immediately tried to convince Hagrid they loved his classes, however none of them could think of something to say about the dementors. They couldn’t deny that it was horrible to be around them, but none of them could understand or imagine what it had been like to live with them, locked in Azkaban with nothing else for company.

“Is it awful in there, Hagrid?” Hermione asked cautiously, urged on by an odd curiosity and the hope that talking about it may help Hagrid.

Harry, Ron and Hermione listened in horror as Hagrid explained what Azkaban had been like. The few minutes Hermione had been in their presence was horrible, yet Hagrid had been with them for weeks. The way he described it, she could imagine the effects worsening the longer a person was there, yet she couldn’t imagine how the experience could be worsened. The thought made her shiver. She found herself able to understand when Hagrid said he couldn’t risk breaking the law and letting Buckbeak go—not if it meant being sent back to Azkaban.

Harry, Ron and Hermione left the cabin, assuring Hagrid they would help to research other cases that could help Buckbeak. He seemed slightly more cheerful, though still somewhat morose as he waved them goodbye. Hermione and Ron shared grateful looks as they left, as Harry had not brought up Black and now seemed to be thinking of something other than seeking revenge—though the distraction was nevertheless unpleasant.

Hermione parted from the boys in the common room to continue her homework, with plans to begin research to help Hagrid the next day. Harry and Ron began a loud game of exploding snap in the common room and, after several minutes of loud bangs, Hermione decided to discreetly move to the girl’s dormitory to study. Once there however, she had no more luck at concentrating. The events of the past twenty-four hours were still circling in her mind and she struggled to make sense of them. Concern for Harry was now coupled with worries about Hagrid, Buckbeak and dementors.

Yet Hermione’s mind kept returning to one thing. What did Draco know? She could not decide if it was worse not knowing what he knew or knowing he had known all along and hadn’t told her. She tried to convince herself that there could be a logical reason Draco hadn’t told her yet—perhaps he knew she wouldn’t be able to explain where she got the information from, but she could not help but wonder if he had just not cared enough to tell her.

She stared out the window of the empty dormitory, wanting nothing more than to send Draco an owl to ask him all the questions on her mind, but she knew she could not do this. She did not know who received the owls at Malfoy Manor. Would it go directly to Draco, or would someone else read it first? She could not risk that happening and getting Draco into trouble. She pondered over ways to deliver a message directly to him, but for once her studies failed her—she could not think of a fool-proof way to send Draco a message. She would have to wait until he returned after break. She could hardly bear the thought—how was she supposed to cope with not knowing for that long? Not knowing what Draco knew and what he cared to tell her?

She couldn’t even imagine what he would think of it all. Were his opinions the same as hers? Did he think Harry should stay safe? Did he care if Harry was safe? Did he think Buckbeak deserved this hearing or was he angered by it? Hermione hoped that he would do what was right, but what if what he thought was right was different to what she thought? She could not stand not knowing if their friendship would last beyond the holidays—it felt as though they were hanging in the brink, unsure whether they would make it.

She had not thought about how much their friendship had come to mean to her but she realised, now that she may lose it, that she had come to rely upon it—upon Draco. What would she do if she learnt he was not the person she had hoped he could be? How would she be okay if she realised it hadn’t been as important to him?

Hermione tried to push those horrid thoughts from her mind—she could not think of what would happen if she realised Draco had fooled her. She would not be able to ask Draco and find an answer until he returned from Christmas break. There was no way around that—she would just have to ignore her worries until then. It wasn’t as though she didn’t have plenty of other options of things to worry about.

Hermione spent the rest of the day buried in schoolwork, extracting herself only for dinner with Harry and Ron, where they planned to begin researching ways to help Hagrid with Buckbeak’s hearing the next day. Hermione felt a sense of dread come over her as they planned—she had organised her holiday break to get her studies organised for the following term and there hadn’t been any time for extra projects. She felt guilty as soon as she thought it—this wasn’t an extra project, it was helping a friend. She would just have to work extra hard over the break to get it all done. She couldn’t let Hagrid down. With this in mind, she returned to her dorm immediately after dinner and continued the work, grateful that she was able to work in peace in the empty dorm.

\---

Hermione spent the next few days moving from textbook to textbook, subject to subject, schoolwork to hearing research. She was in constant motion, her eyes growing exhausted from the amount of text they were taking in. McGonagall had not said if she could use the time-turner during holidays, but after trying to not use it for a couple of days, Hermione found herself barely able to keep her eyes open—she had decided sleep was an acceptable sacrifice to complete what she had committed to, but after staring at the same page for several minutes without understanding any of the words, she decided she needed more time. She wouldn’t get any useful work done if she was exhausted.

Hermione was particularly grateful for the empty dorm after this—she was able to stay up there studying and be down with Harry and Ron in the common room researching hippogriff trials and any other useful information for Buckbeak’s hearing. The amount of work she was doing in a day caught up to her when she went to bed, usually collapsing as soon as she turned out the lights, but she at least now felt refreshed when she woke up, having gotten a decent amount of sleep.

Hermione formed a routine within the holidays and she found herself able to easily settle into it—she was always most content when she had a schedule to follow. Her business meant she barely had a chance to think of Draco and the conversation she would need to have with him when he returned to school. That was, until an owl arrived at her window, addressed to her in Draco’s perfect handwriting.

She stared at the regal eagle owl that was watching her impatiently. It held out its leg and Hermione rushed to remove the letter. Up close she could not deny that it was Draco’s writing. Her mind puzzled over all the things he could have written to her about. Surely it had been a risk for him to send this letter? Or did he have freedom to send and receive letters? Why had they never discussed this?

She opened the letter hurriedly and read through it.

_Hermione,_

_I_ _know this letter is coming to you late, I should have sent it days ago. I wanted to talk to you as soon as I heard but when I tried to write a letter it all sounded like a poor excuse. I guess that a poor excuse is probably better than hearing nothing, though._

_I didn’t hear about the hippogriff’s hearing until I got home. Father didn’t tell me about what he was planning, I don’t know why. Maybe he wanted to wait until I got home to tell me in person, or didn’t want to say anything until it was confirmed. Whatever the reason, he didn’t tell me until the hearing had been decided. There was nothing I could do—he expected me to be delighted._

_I_ _’m trying to think of something to say that won’t make you think I’m a total git but it's pretty hard. I really am sorry about the hippogriff, but Father did say that he hadn’t been able to get Hagrid for it because Dumbledore stepped in. That’s good, right?_

_I don’t know if any of this is helpful at all but I didn’t want you to think I had any part in this. I think I will have to go along with it. Father’s still furious at Dumbledore. I’m really sorry, I hope you can forgive me for whatever I have to do._

_I really hope you believe this. I don’t think you’ll be able to send a letter back, the owls usually get collected by the house elf and I never know if I’ll be the first one to get them. I guess I won’t know if you’re furious until I get back but I hope that this lousy explanation can do something if you are furious at me._

_I’ll see you soon._

_Draco_

Hermione stared at the letter for several minutes after she had finished reading. She knew she should be feeling a sense of relief knowing Draco hadn’t had any part in Buckbeak’s trial, but she couldn’t help but feel oddly disappointed. She knew there was no way for Draco to know she had found out about Black, but when she saw the letter she had hoped that it held an explanation for what he knew.

She shook her head to herself—it was ridiculous to be disappointed over something that could never have logically happened. This letter was a good thing—she now knew that Draco didn’t have any part in planning Buckbeak’s trial. He’d said he was sorry for it and glad Hagrid hadn’t been charged. These were good things to know, yet she kept focusing on the new problems this letter had brought with it. Draco couldn’t get a reply from her—he was probably worried she was angry at him. She didn’t think the apology was lousy, as he had called it. She understood it, mostly at least. She believed he hadn’t known, but she couldn’t quite get past his comment towards the end of the letter. He thought he would have to ‘go along with it’. What did that mean? She tried to recall his explanation of what was expected of him, but she found it hard to make herself accept it as a reasonable explanation.

Hermione knew that there was pressure on Draco, but it was difficult to cast aside any action based on that. She knew Draco wasn’t a puppet, but when he said something like that, she couldn’t help but see him that way. There were certain things that would have a particularly bad response for him, such as being friends with a Gryffindor Muggle-born such as herself, but could he not take a stand for anything? What made it so difficult to say no to these unwritten requirements?

She stared down at the letter, unable to decide on how she felt. Rather than answering her questions, this letter only increased her desire to speak to Draco and ask him all the questions on her mind. As she read over the words again, she noticed something scratched out at the bottom of the letter. She held it up to her eyes, trying to decipher what it had said, but Draco had been too thorough—there was no way to discern what he had written. Was it some sort of explanation he had taken back? She wouldn’t know until she saw him again.

Hermione sighed and laid back down on her bed, the letter still clutched in her hand. She felt restless, her mind far too overwhelmed to think of doing the schoolwork she had spread across the bed in front of her. She wanted a chance to go for a walk to clear her head, but she was also currently downstairs with Harry and Ron and was therefore trapped in her dormitory. She sprawled across her bed with nothing to distract her mind from what Draco had meant by his letter and how she would decide to respond when she inevitably saw him again.


	9. Silent Night

Hermione tried her best to not think about Draco during Christmas break. The holiday was a welcome distraction and she awoke the morning of Christmas to see a pile of presents beside her bed. Her parents had sent several gifts—Hermione suspected that they were missing her and compensating by giving larger gifts than usual. She made a mental note to send them a letter later that day so that they wouldn’t worry about her being away so long. Harry and Ron had each gotten her a small gift. Hermione suspected Harry had asked Ron to buy him something to give to her when he was in Hogsmeade—both presents consisted of candy, a gift that seemed to suggest Ron had been choosing. She could not complain as she unwrapped the sugar quills and toffee—he had managed to pick out her favourite sweets.

Her presents opened, Hermione picked up Crookshanks and wandered over to the boys’ dormitory, straightening the tinsel she had tied around the cat’s neck. She could hear raucous laughter coming from Harry and Ron’s dorm as she approached and smiled to herself as she opened the door.

“What’re you two laughing about?” she said, walking into the room. Judging by the torn paper across the room, Hermione guessed they were in the middle of opening their presents.

Ron snapped at her to take Crookshanks out, but Hermione wasn’t listening—she was staring at Harry’s bed and dropping Crookshanks to the floor.

“Oh, _Harry_! Who sent you _that_?” she cried, staring at the broom on his bed, wrapping still around the handle.

“No idea, there wasn’t a card or anything with it,” Harry replied, observing the broom happily.

Hermione instantly felt uncomfortable, instinctually knowing something was wrong before her mind caught on.

“What’s the matter with you?” Ron said, noticing her hesitation.

Hermione answered slowly, not wanting to express her worries to Harry and Ron, who were clearly so delighted by the gift.

“I don’t know, but it is a bit odd, isn’t it? I mean, this is supposed to be quite a good broom, isn’t it?”

Ron looked at her incredulously and quickly assured her that there was no better broom. This only increased Hermione’s sense of unease.

“Well… who’d send Harry something as expensive as that, and not even tell him they’d sent it?” she asked, still not wanting to dampen their excited spirits. She hesitated on the verge of saying something, holding herself back. However, when Ron suggested they try it out, Hermione could not stop herself stepping in.

“I don’t think anyone should ride that broom just yet!” she said quickly.

Harry and Ron stared at her as though she’d gone mad, but she couldn’t understand how they didn’t see the danger that she did.

“What d’you think Harry’s going to do with it—sweep the floor?” Ron said, laughing.

Hermione tried to think of a way to explain herself without upsetting them, but before she could speak, Crookshanks had jumped from one of the beds and begun to chase Scabbers. Ron yelled and aimed a kick at Crookshanks, reaching for Scabbers. His foot collided with Harry’s trunk and a faint whistling noise started. Harry’s sneakoscope was spinning across the room. Ron snapped at Hermione and she rushed to pick up Crookshanks and take him out of the room, leaving the boys arguing about the sneakoscope.

Hermione hurried to her dormitory and dropped the hissing Crookshanks inside, shutting the door behind them. She leant against the door, ignoring Crookshank’s frantic scratches against it. Her mind was consumed by Harry’s broom—how could the boys not see how suspicious this was, particularly in the light of what they had discovered only a few days ago? Harry had already almost died on a broom once this year and had just barely survived a jinxed broom in his first year. It seemed very likely to Hermione that an unmarked package with an expensive gift inside could undoubtedly be a trap to harm Harry—exactly the kind of trap a mass murderer determined to kill Harry would set.

Hermione was certain the broom was from Black—there was no one she could think of that would buy Harry such an expensive gift and neglect to leave a note. Harry and Ron were so excited by the present—how could she convince them it was dangerous? After trying to think of a way to best bring it up with Harry, Hermione found herself unable to find an explanation that Harry would not brush off.

She left the dormitory, with Crookshanks locked inside and went down to the common room, where Harry and Ron had moved to. Hermione ignored Ron, furious at his attempt to kick Crookshanks and at his lack of thanks for her shutting her cat away. Ron seemed to appreciate her silence and was likewise ignoring her, undoubtedly blaming her for Crookshanks acting as a cat. It made for a very quiet Christmas and, after a few attempts to start a conversation with both of them, Harry left to go get the Firebolt. Hermione couldn’t stop glancing at the broom once Harry had brought it down, certain it was bound to do something dangerous, but the broom remained stationary. Perhaps it would only show signs of danger once the rider was on it and high in the air. Hermione shuddered at the thought. Harry was ignoring her looks to him and the broom and without any conversation, Hermione couldn’t think of a way to bring up her suspicions.

They went down to the Great Hall at lunchtime to see that the house table had been moved aside to allow room for one small table. Apparently not many students had stayed for this Christmas and Dumbledore wanted them to all sit together. The meal went by pleasantly, with only a few odd remarks once Trelawny joined them—however McGonagall’s snide replies made for a very entertaining meal. Hermione felt something register in her mind when McGonagall said that Lupin had fallen ill, but the thought was pushed out of her mind by Ron offering the end of a bon bon to her. At the end of the meal, when Ron and Harry stood to leave, Hermione hesitated. Harry looked at Hermione oddly, asking if she was coming with them. Hermione shook her head, saying she had to speak to Professor McGonagall.

She had made up her mind during lunch—there was no way Harry would listen to her. She knew he would simply brush off her concern until he got onto the broom and it kicked him off. She couldn’t wait for that to happen—what if Dumbledore wasn’t around next time to cushion his fall? Hermione knew there was only one way to ensure Harry was safe, and that was to go to the professors. She was sure Harry would be furious, but she couldn’t stand the thought of something worse happening to him.

Hermione followed Professor McGonagall out of the Great Hall when she finished her lunch and stopped her in the Entrance Hall.

“Professor McGonagall, there’s something I want to talk to you about,” she said cautiously.

“What is it? Something to do with your schedule?”

Hermione knew this meant her time turner and that the teacher was trying to ask if there was an issue with it. She shook her head.

“No, it’s about something else. I’m not really sure if I ought to have come to you with this, but I was concerned and thought I should tell you.”

McGongall stared at her over her glasses, but she did not say anything. Hermione continued.

“Harry received a present this morning—a Firebolt—and there was no note attached. I was worried because it seemed like the kind of thing—the kind of thing Sirius Black may do to harm Harry.”

McGongall looked taken aback.

“Am I right in presuming Potter informed you of the danger Sirius Black presents specifically to him?”

Hermione nodded.

“Yes, he told Ron and I.”

“I am not surprised by that and he is at liberty to tell whomever he likes. Thank you for bringing this to my attention—you’re right, this does appear very suspicious and could very well be linked to Black. It may be from some generous friend Potter didn’t realise he had, but I would not like to jump to that conclusion. The broom ought to be examined before Potter, or anyone else, rides it.”

Hermione felt both relieved and nervous—she knew now that she had done the right thing, but Harry was sure to be furious when he found out his broom was going to be taken and examined.

“Head back to your common room now, Granger. I will accompany you to talk to Potter about this broom before he rides it.”

Hermione hurried away to the common room with McGonagall beside her, trying to think if there was any way Harry would understand what she had done—surely he would understand once he saw McGonagall was concerned. Yet she could not help but think that Harry would be livid when he learned of what she had done. She reached the common room, feeling incredibly nervous. She tried to comfort herself, thinking she could just explain after—that Harry would understand once he got over his initial anger.

She entered the common room with McGonagall and made a beeline for the chair she had sat in that morning, grabbing the textbook she had left on it and propping it open in front of her. The book served only as a pretence as she listened to McGonagall questioning Harry about the broom. Harry got more and more frantic as she spoke, clearly upset at the thought of his new broom being taken away and tested. Hermione felt horrible and tried to hold back tears—Harry’s reaction was worse than she’d imagined.

McGonagall turned out of the portrait hole, holding the broom and Hermione felt Ron and Harry turn to stare at her. Ron was furious and demanded to know why she had spoken to McGonagall. Hermione set down the book with shaking hands and stood up to address them both.

“Because I thought—and Professor McGonagall agrees with me—that that broom was probably sent to Harry by Sirius Black!”

Her confession did nothing to appease Harry and Ron, as she had hoped. Harry stared at her incredulously, a look of mixed betrayal and fury on his face. Ron began yelling, the anger built up since that morning’s unspoken argument pouring out. Hermione turned away, not wanting either of them to see the tears brimming in her eyes. She sniffed a muffled apology into her sleeve and hurried up the staircase to her dormitory, where she collapsed onto the bed crying.

\---

Harry and Ron’s anger with her did not blow over as she had thought—apparently neither of them could see or admit the danger of the unlabelled gift and considered Hermione to be out of line to express her concern. After a few uncomfortable moments in the common room, Hermione began to spend more time in her dormitory, emerging only for meals, which she now ate early in order to avoid any arguments with Harry and Ron. She felt miserable and entirely friendless. She had stayed over the holidays only for Harry, a plan she and Ron had made together. Now she had neither and was entirely alone. She didn’t even look forward to term beginning—she didn’t have many friends and she expected the term to be as lonely as the holiday.

She had hoped she and Ginny were becoming friends but Ginny was sure to side with her brother—she wouldn’t blame her for that. The loss of the friendship still came as a blow, however, and she felt sad to think of it. That somehow left her with only Draco Malfoy as a friend and she wasn’t even sure if that would last beyond the end of the holidays. How did she end up with her only possibility of a friend being Draco Malfoy?

The upside of Hermione’s loneliness was that she finished her schoolwork with plenty of time before the break finished and even managed to get ahead in a few subjects. She spent any time she wasn’t doing schoolwork researching information to help with Buckbeak’s case. She had owled Hagrid her findings a few times, but left out any mentions of Harry and Ron. It was Harry who had introduced her to Hagrid—she didn’t know if that meant she wasn’t allowed to talk to him either now. It was only her concern for Hagrid and Buckbeak that allowed her to overcome this worry.

Hermione had hidden herself in the library to study and decided to jump ahead in her Defence Against the Dark Arts coursework. She had finished all the assigned holiday homework, and with nothing else to do around the castle, she had begun reading ahead in textbooks to prepare for the upcoming term. She opened her Defence textbook to the chapter she was up to and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment to take notes. The chapter was interesting—it was the first time she had read a description of werewolves that discussed them as humans, as well as in their wolf form. Though Snape had attempted to teach a class on the subject, the class had none of the required knowledge to write an essay on it. Hermione had hated feeling so ill-prepared and decided now was a good time to ensure she was ready when the topic next came up.

As she was reading, she felt something nagging at her brain, yet she couldn’t quite figure out what. She recalled having the same feeling when Professor McGonagall had said Professor Lupin was sick over Christmas. The thought was still forming in her mind as she reached into her book bag and pulled out her Astronomy lunar calendar. Her eyes found the December full moon—December 29th. She recalled what she had just read— _many began to feel the effect of the full moon days before it is formed._ Her mind darted back to the calendar. Lupin had been sick several times that year…there was almost a pattern to it.

She wanted to stop looking but her mind would not stop. Each month he fell sick. One of the dates was the Hogsmeade weekend—Halloween. Full moon—October 30th. Hermione could hardly believe the thought in her mind, but she could not deny it all added up. She’d excused McGonagall’s criticism of Trewlany’s apparent prediction of Lupin’s illness to the teacher's disdain of the subject—but perhaps she was instead pointing out that every teacher knew he would ‘fall ill’. What else had she said? ‘ _Severus, you’ve made the potion for him again?_ ’ Again—Snape had made this potion before. But she knew that—Harry had seen it. Harry had seen Snape give it to him the day after the full moon.

Hermione stood up and walked along the rows of the library. She stopped at the potions section and walked down, reaching up to pull down a complicated book on potion theories. She had read the book once before, trying to find evidence to support a potions essay she had written the previous year. She recalled it had mentioned an extremely complex potion that was being used experimentally on werewolves. She flicked through the pages and stopped on Wolfsbane Potion. The appearance matched what Harry described and the dates matched up—the drinker would take it several days before and after the full moon to ensure full effect. The potion was described as complex, with no less than _‘the most practised potioneer’_ being able to correctly brew it—incorrectly brewed it would be fatal. Snape certainly matched that description.

Hermione pushed the book onto the shelf and collapsed against it. She had never before wanted to be wrong so badly, yet she could not deny it—Lupin was a werewolf. She felt briefly terrified at the thought, wondering how she was supposed to sit in his classroom knowing what she knew now. She then felt disgusted with herself—had she not just read that werewolves were only altered by their condition on the full moon? On any other day they remain entirely themselves—why should she fear the teacher she trusted because he suffered from an uncontrollable condition? Besides, Dumbledore clearly knew about it, given McGonagall and Snape did. If Dumbledore trusted Lupin to be safe, then she would too. Hermione decided to keep her discovery to herself, however—Lupin clearly did not want it known. Besides, who would Hermione tell?

\---

Term started and though the castle felt crowded, Hermione felt more alone than ever. She could see friends greeting each other after the holidays all around, with no one to talk to but herself. She avoided the halls, taking shortcuts to get to classes and spending as much time as she could in the library or Gryffindor tower. The result of this was that she didn’t see Draco until their Arithmancy lesson midway through the week. The lesson was even harder than usual and required Hermione’s full concentration. She was grateful for that—despite having spent much of her time trying to think of what to say to Draco, her mind drew a blank when she saw him.

She felt Draco’s furtive glances at her during class but she stared resolutely ahead—she couldn’t have this conversation yet. When the class was dismissed, she rushed out the door, taking no time to look at Draco. She lost herself in the crowd and hoped he wouldn’t be able to find her. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or upset—she knew she couldn’t handle the conversation with Draco on top of everything else, but it still hurt to isolate herself from the only friend she had left.

Draco didn’t manage to catch her alone until Friday. He had rushed out of class before her and Hermione had been relieved, assuming he understood she wasn’t ready to talk. Watching his retreating form, however, she couldn’t help but also feel hurt. She knew that was unreasonable—she had been the one to shut Draco out—but it felt like he had given up on their friendship and ended it before she could make up her mind about how she felt.

Hermione tried to sort out her thoughts as she wandered to the passage to the library. It was lunch and Hermione found it far better to use that time in the library than to sit alone at the Gryffindor table. She pushed aside the tapestry and was startled to find that there was someone standing behind it. Leaning against a wall, waiting as though they had agreed to meet there, was Draco.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted out.

“Waiting for you. Isn’t that obvious?” he replied, staring at the wall opposite him.

“How did you know I’d come through here?”

“You know, Granger, you’re incredibly predictable. It’s lunch and I haven’t seen you at meals ever since term started. I suspected you had been spending your time in the library and would do the same today. And it appears I was right.”

“Yes, you were—congratulations. Now I need to go to the library.”

She tried to push past him, but Draco stuck out his arm to block the passage.

“Talk to me first.”

“I don’t have time to.”

“Make time. You spend all your time studying, you can give up a few minutes.”

“I really can’t.”

Draco didn’t say anything, but stared as though he was surveying her, his arm still extended across the passage.

“Why?” he asked, after a moment.

“Why?” she repeated, taken aback. “Because I have work to do!”

“You seem to have a lot of work to do recently.”

“Well, classwork has increased this term.”

“Not that much.”

“Enough that I know I need to go finish my work now!”

Hermione could hear how unreasonable she sounded. She knew she would be able to finish the work she had to do—she was ahead of her work at the moment—yet she could not stand admitting that and ending up stuck in the conversation she had been avoiding. She didn’t know what she wanted to say. She hadn’t planned her questions—she needed more time.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Draco said, his voice dropping.

“I’m not,” she snapped.

Draco gave her a disbelieving look and she turned her eyes away, unable to meet his gaze.

“I need time,” she decided to say instead of looking up at him.

“Time to do what?”

“To decide what I want to say.”

“Haven’t you had weeks to think about it?” he asked, his voice soft rather than accusatory.

“Yes.”

“And you still haven’t figured out what you want to say? C’mon, I know you’re smarter than that.”

“No. I haven’t figured out what I want to hear.”

Draco breathed in sharply and she looked up at him. He was watching her warily.

“I’m sorry—”

“No need to be,” Draco said, shaking his head. “I should apologise.” 

“You did.”

“But you don’t seem to have accepted it.”

“It’s not that I haven’t accepted it, it’s just that I haven’t decided if I can.”

Draco stared at her for a moment before looking away.

“Well, let me know when you decide, I guess.”

He made to push himself off the wall and Hermione felt a sudden wave of guilt rush over her. She reached out to grab his arm.

“I just have questions about a lot of things and, if I’m being honest, I’m scared of what your answers might be.”

Draco looked down at her hand and paused. After a moment, he leaned back against the wall.

“Ask them,” Draco said simply.

She decided to start easy, with a question she already knew the answer to. “You didn’t know anything about Buckbeak?” 

“I suspected my father might have something planned—he was furious. But I had no idea about the trial until I returned home.”

“Okay,” she said, mulling over which question to ask next. “In your letter you said you’d have to go along with it. What does that mean?”

“Father will want me to push this so that the chance of the case being won—at least won in his opinion—will be greater. If Hagrid wins, he’ll look like a fool.”

“So, you’re doing it to please your father?”

Draco sighed and ran his fingers through his hair irritably.

“I suppose.”

“Why can’t you disagree with him?”

The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it. She knew it was the question that had been pressing on her mind most, yet she had never thought she would have the guts to ask it. Now it hung in the air between them, dense as a brick wall.

“I can. I just have to choose what things.”

“Why didn’t you choose this?”

“Some things are harder to choose. Picking a fight over the gamekeeper’s pet seemed like a lost battle.”

“He’s a professor,” Hermione said quietly.

“I know—but that’s how Father sees it. He’s impossible to argue with—it’s like he predicts your every response and has a counterpoint ready.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good parent.”

“It always sounds worse. We don’t actually argue—just discuss opinions until someone changes theirs—or pretends to at least. But with this—he really thought he was doing what I wanted. It was hard to argue with that.”

“Why do you have to keep up this other image of yourself?”

“Because if I don’t I lose everything. My friends would turn on me, I’d become the new target practise for Slytherin and the rest of the school not to mention my family,” Draco said, rolling his eyes, “well they wouldn’t go so far as to disown me, but it would certainly never be the same. These people don’t like when someone rocks the boat.”

“So, it’s not just what other people will think?”

“I’m not going to say that isn’t part of it, but mostly, no. It would be making my life miserable for me to suddenly express all the things I’ve been thinking. I can think these things, but it’s a pretty big decision to express them out loud.”

“Okay,” Hermione said, trying to process what he had said.

She could understand it somewhat, but could not decide if it was an answer she was willing to accept. Draco seemed to guess what she was thinking.

“I know it’s still a poor excuse. A stronger person would have made the right decision a long time ago—no matter the cost. But I’ve always hoped that the fact that I can think for myself, recognise where they are wrong had to count for something, right?”

Hermione nodded.

“It does. And I’m not asking for you to make yourself miserable—it’s just all of this is so different from what I know, it’s sometimes really hard for me to understand it.”

“That’s okay.”

“I’m trying to though—I will try to.”

“Thank you,” he said, his voice soft. “Were they all your questions?”

Hermione took a bracing breath—she knew she had to ask the other thing that had been on her mind since the day before the holidays.

“No—I need to talk to you about something else.”

“What else?” Draco asked, watching her carefully.

“What do you know about Sirius Black?”

Hermione couldn’t bring herself to outright ask the question she wanted to—what if she was wrong and Draco didn’t know any more than everyone else?

“What do I know?” he repeated slowly, “I know he was a Death Eater and killed thirteen Muggles. I know escaped from Azkaban, though I don’t know how he did it.”

“Death Eater?”

“Follower of You-Know-Who.”

“I didn’t know that’s what they were called.”

“It’s not known by the common person.”

Hermione paused, trying not to think of the implications of what this meant. She focused back on her original question.

“And that’s all you know about him?”

Draco looked at her carefully.

“Is that all you know?” he asked her cautiously

Hermione paused.

“No—I know there’s more to it.”

“Since when?”

“Some since the beginning of the year. Some more recently.”

“To do with Potter?”

“Yes—to do with Harry.”

“Black’s after him,” Draco said bluntly.

“Yes.”

“That’s what you’ve known since the beginning of the year.”

“Yes.”

“But you know something else now.”

“Yes.”

“And you want to know if I’ve known this whole time.”

“Yes.”

“And you can’t decide what you want me to say because however you look at it, I’m a jerk.”

Hermione didn’t answer—it was what she had been thinking for the past couple of weeks, but the way Draco said it sounded so much harsher than it did in her own mind.

“I always thought Potter ought to know,” Draco said quietly.

Hermione stared at him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I tried to. I tried to warn Potter back in potions at the beginning of the year.”

“How was he supposed to figure that out from what you said?”

“Obviously, he wasn’t going to figure it out from what I said but I thought maybe if it made him curious enough to go ask someone who could tell him…”

Draco trailed off. Hermione stared, trying to understand what he was saying.

“So, you did try to tell him? Or at least warn him?”

“Yes. Of course I did. I told you I would try with him and I figured anyone deserved to know about the bloke who's responsible for their parents’ death.”

“Apparently no one else thought that.”

“How did he find out then?”

“Accidentally overheard the whole thing.”

“That’s not the way to hear it.”

“No.”

They stood in silence for a moment, then Hermione spoke again.

“How did you know?”

“My father told me before term started. He suspected Black would try to break in or Potter would try to attack him if he found out and warned me to stay out of the way. He reckons Black’s a total madman, especially after Azkaban and wouldn’t recognise target or…ally.”

“Are you his ally?” Hermione said sharply.

“Not me—but my father, yes.”

“And in public that’s essentially the same.”

“Essentially.”

Hermione suddenly understood Draco’s veiled comments. She had had suspicions about Lucius Malfoy’s loyalties for a long time, but here Draco was, confirming them. Of course Draco couldn’t start suddenly expressing Muggle-loving loyalties or suggest he questioned the importance of blood purities—his father has devoted his life to spreading the exact opposite message under the guidance of the most evil wizard for centuries.

Hermione looked up at Draco, but he had turned his face away from her. She reached out her hand to grasp his arm.

“Draco,” she said softly. He turned his head to look at her. “You are not your father. I know you aren’t. You’ll be free of it one day.”

His face looked disbelieving, but he didn’t say anything to contradict her.

“So, what’s Potter going to do?”

Hermione pretended not to notice the change of subject.

“He wanted to go after Black.”

“That’s what I thought he would do.”

“Isn’t that what you told him to do?”

“I didn’t think he should actually do it—I just wanted him to be suspicious.”

“Ron and I tried to convince him not to. Who knows with Harry, though.”

“If anyone were to miraculously survive a battle with a mass murderer, it would be Potter.”

Hermione laughed despite herself.

“Is he still planning on going after Black?”

Hermione felt a pang of sadness—she had briefly forgotten her best friends weren’t speaking to her. She was sure it showed on her face, as Draco’s brow furrowed in concern.

“I wouldn’t know,” she tried to say casually, “he’s not exactly speaking to me at the moment.”

“Because you and Weasley told him not to go after Black?”

“No, because of something else. Neither of them are speaking to me, actually.”

A look of anger crossed Draco’s face.

“What the hell? Since when?”

“Uh—since Christmas.”

“Since Christmas?” Draco said incredulously, “Didn’t you only stay over Christmas for Potter?”

“Yes,” said Hermione, her voice wobbling.

Draco looked away, his jaw tightening

“That’s not okay.”

Hermione shrugged, not wanting to speak and prompt herself to start another bout of the tears she had been so prone to recently.

“What happened?” Draco’s voice was soft, but Hermione could sense anger behind it.

“Harry got an expensive gift for Christmas and it wasn’t labelled so I thought—”

“You thought it came from Black?”

“Yeah and so I told McGonagall and she agreed and confiscated it to test it and now he hates me and Ron agrees with him,” she spoke quickly, trying to get the words out before she started crying.

“They’re being stupid—of course that looks suspicious. He really thinks whatever the gift was is more important?”

“I think he felt betrayed because I went to McGonagall.”

“Would he have turned it in if you went to him first?”

“No.”

“So, you did what you had to do to keep him safe.”

“He doesn’t see it that way.”

“I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

“I don’t know if he will—he’s pretty furious.”

“It’s only a present, why can’t he just buy it himself?”

“He could, but I don’t think he thinks like that. Harry didn’t have much growing up—he didn’t have any money from his parents so gifts mean a lot more to him. He spent eleven years without any real birthday or Christmas presents.”

Hermione didn’t know why she was making excuses for Harry—maybe she was trying to comfort herself, or maybe she was so used to defending him that it was second-nature.

“Look, I can understand that—I just always thought your friendship meant more to Potter,”

“Me too,” she said quietly.

Draco watched her for a moment and Hermione tried to subtly wipe her eyes. Despite her best attempts, she could not stop her eyes from brimming with tears.

“I know it’s a small comfort, but you still have me—I’m your friend.”

Hermione nodded and surprised herself by reaching for him. Draco opened his arms to her and she fell into him. She stood there for a moment and realised this was probably the first time she had had a conversation with someone in at least a week. After a moment she felt she was able to compose herself and pulled back.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She nodded and looked down the passage, thinking she ought to leave. There was probably still some time left in lunch for her to study.

“Don’t go study. Get something to eat, you need it.”

Hermione opened her mouth to disagree but surprised herself again by nodding.

“Do you want to study together later?” Draco asked and Hermione stared at him, shocked.

“How? Where could we?”

“I found an old classroom last year. Hardly anyone uses it—never seen anyone in there before. I go there to study sometimes when I want quiet.”

“Okay. Where is it?”

Draco explained to her how to find it and they agreed to meet there between their last lesson and dinner. Draco insisted she leave the passage first to make sure she got to lunch and Hermione left, feeling slightly more hopeful.

\---

Hermione’s day went by faster than usual, even with travelling back to attend all her classes—the thought of having a friend to see at the end of classes kept her spirits high and she seemed to fly through the day. At the end of her Transfiguration lesson, she was the first out the door and walked straight to where she had agreed to meet Draco.

She wasn’t sure about the place he had suggested, but Draco assured her he had used it to study without being disturbed plenty of times before. She broke away from the crowd to take the stairs down to the dungeons and walked down the long corridors. Draco had described the path to the unused and mostly forgotten classroom to her and she followed it carefully. The further she went, the quieter it became, until she could no longer hear the crowd of students above her. At the end of a long corridor, she found the room Draco had told her about—at least she hoped it was. She understood why Draco felt no one would use it as she approached it. It was far down the corridor, almost entirely hidden in shadows—the lamps this far down had clearly been long forgotten. From a distance, it looked as though there was nothing there at all.

Hermione pushed open the door and saw the room Draco had described. It was an old classroom with dusty chairs and tables and an old blackboard that didn’t match any others she had seen. It seemed Draco was right and this classroom was one that had once been used, but had been long since abandoned. Hermione suspected the teachers realised how far it was for students to walk and were sick of losing lesson time, choosing instead to use classrooms more central to the castle.

Draco hadn’t arrived yet, so Hermione decided to sit down at one of the desks and pull out her list of homework. It was significantly shorter than usual—she’d had a lot more time to do schoolwork recently—though she had enough to keep her busy for a few hours. She was pondering over which subject to start on first when she heard the door opening. Hermione looked up and saw Draco walking inside. His face lit up into a smile when he saw her and he walked over to where she sat, pulling a desk so it joined with hers.

“You found it alright, then?” he asked, “Thought you might get lost in all these dungeon corridors.”

“Yeah, I found it—you gave good directions.”

“Good, good.” He reached out to grab her list. “So what’s on the agenda today? Ahh, the Arithmancy essay, I have to do that too. Any idea what you are going to do yours on?”

“No idea,” Hermione said truthfully. “The first part of doing that was going to be figuring out what I wanted to focus on.”

Draco chuckled.

“I have to decide too. Want to work on it together? No copying though.”

It took Hermione a moment to realise he was teasing, then she laughed aloud.

“I wouldn’t need to copy from you, thank you very much.”

“Oh, of course, Hermione Granger would _never_ need to copy from _anyone_. She’s far too smart for that.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled out her Arithmancy book. It was surprising how easily they settled into a routine, working side-by-side, occasionally stopping to ask the other a question, or point out a particularly useful passage in the textbook. Hermione doubted she had ever finished an essay so quickly. She set it aside to dry before rolling it up and reached for her wand.

“Tempus,” she cast, under her breath and the time appeared in the air before them, telling her that it was an hour until dinner.

Draco looked up, surprised.

“When did you learn to cast that?”

“I—uh—read it somewhere,” Hermione said—she didn’t want to say that McGonagall had taught her it, knowing it would only invite more questions.

“Is that why you don’t wear a watch? I thought you did Muggle Studies, aren’t you meant to learn not to just rely on magic there?”

Hermione was surprised not only to find out that Draco knew she took the subject, but also that he knew what it was about.

“I know, I know, I’m a terrible student. Just don’t let Professor Burbage know.”

“I don’t know…I’m concerned about your education, quite honestly.”

Hermione laughed and shoved him playfully with her shoulder.

“Come to think of it, why do you do Muggle Studies?” Draco asked abruptly.

“I’m curious about seeing Muggles from a wizarding perspective—it is quite interesting. And besides, I found coming back from Hogwarts I felt out of touch with the Muggle world. This way I can understand what my parents are talking about when I go home for holidays.”

“That must be weird—going back and being in a completely different world.”

“Yeah, it’s different for sure, but I have good parents. They like to hear about school so it bridges the gap somewhat, even if they don’t understand half of it.”

“That’s nice they try.”

“Yeah, it is.”

They settled back to work and in what felt like only a few minutes, an hour passed and it was time for dinner. They packed up together and parted ways in the dungeons, with plans to meet again the next day.

\---

Hermione wandered back to the common room after dinner, the stress of her workload pressing her a little less than usual. Though she doubted working alongside Draco made it any faster, she enjoyed having the company of a friend again. Her friendship with Draco was different from the ones she’s had with Ron and Harry. Any study she did with them usually ended in her doing the work for all three. With Draco, however, she had found that he was not only incredibly meticulous with how he did his work, but he was also helpful—offering advice and suggesting additions to what she had written. Though she had always known he was one of the top students in the grade, she was surprised by how clever Draco was.

She found herself looking forward to when they would study together again tomorrow—they had agreed to meet after the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor Quidditch match. Draco was going because he wanted to scope out the competition—and because he loved the game. Hermione wasn’t entirely sure why she was going. She hadn’t missed a Gryffindor game before, having always gone to support Harry. Now he wasn’t speaking to her, however, she was unsure if he even wanted her support. But she couldn’t imagine not being there if something were to happen to Harry—he may have stopped being her friend, but she still cared about him.

Hermione reached the portrait of Sir Cadogan and entered the common room. She was one of the first back, having eaten dinner quickly, and was able to settle herself at a table in the corner of the common room. The study she had done with Draco had only been the beginning of her long list of tasks to finish that day. She hardly noticed as the common room filled. It was only the disturbance of everyone running toward the portrait hole that drew Hermione’s attention from books. Through a gap in the crowd, she saw Harry, standing delightedly with a broomstick—with the Firebolt.

Hermione averted her eyes quickly and bent over her work. She was sure Harry was about to come over and say ‘I told you so’ and couldn’t stand the thought of it—she thought if she had been right it would maybe be worth it—maybe Harry would understand and forgive her. Now that she had been proven wrong, she was sure Harry would just be more furious with her—he’d lost his broom for weeks for apparently nothing. She saw Harry and Ron break away from the crowd and approach her table out of the corner of her eye. She braced herself for whatever they were about to yell at her.

“I got it back,” Harry said, smiling at her and indicating to the Firebolt.

“See, Hermione? There wasn’t anything wrong with it!” Ron added.

Hermione felt defensive—she still believed she had done the right thing to be cautious.

“Well—there _might_ have been! I mean at least you know it’s safe!”

“Yeah I suppose so,” Harry surprised her by agreeing.

Ron offered to take the broom upstairs and Harry sat down beside her. Hermione felt entirely puzzled—was Harry trying to say he had forgiven her?

“How are you getting through all this stuff?” Harry asked, staring around at her stacks of parchments and textbooks.

“Oh, well—you know—working hard,” she said, trying to sound vague.

“Why don’t you just drop a couple of subjects?”

Was Harry trying to help her? It was a relief that he wasn’t yelling at her, but she knew she couldn’t answer him. Dropping a subject wasn’t an option—that would be failing.

“I couldn’t do that!”

“Arithmancy looks terrible.”

Hermione tried to suppress a grin, recalling her afternoon with Draco—she was grateful Harry had no interest in the subject, or who she spoke to in it.

“Oh no, it’s wonderful! It’s my favourite subject!” She surprised herself by realising this was true.

She began to explain Arithmancy to Harry, delighted by the return of her best friend. She was interrupted, however, by a loud howl from the dormitories. Everyone around them looked up at the room and Hermione felt her blood run cold—she recognised that voice. From the way Harry’s head shot around, she was sure he had too.

Ron came running down the stairs, pulling a bedsheet behind him. He stormed over to where Harry and Hermione sat and shoved the sheet in Hermione’s face.

“LOOK! LOOK!”

Hermione stared at the sheet and felt nauseous as she noticed drops of blood across it. She heard Harry try to speak to Ron, but couldn’t say anything herself.

“SCABBERS! LOOK! SCABBERS! BLOOD! HE’S GONE! AND YOU KNOW WHAT WAS ON THE FLOOR?”

Hermione looked away, terrified of the answer.

“N—no.”

Ron slammed his hand onto Hermione’s book and a few long, ginger hairs fell onto the pages. Hermione looked from the hair to Ron and felt a wave of horror rush over her as she realised what Ron was implying.

“Ron, please, you can’t know for certain—”

“KNOW FOR CERTAIN? THE HAIR IS RIGHT THERE!”

“It could—it could be from Christmas—”

“On the bed since Christmas?” Ron laughed incredulously.

“Ron, I’m sorry—”

“SORRY WON’T BRING MY RAT BACK! I TOLD YOU—I TOLD YOU TO WATCH THAT STUPID CAT!”

“Ron, Scabbers was old, there are lots of cats—how can you know?”

Ron gave her a scathing look and swore so loudly that Hermione jumped, before storming out of the common room, leaving the sheet and hair in front of Hermione. She turned away from Harry, trying to hide the tears brimming in her eyes—for a moment she had thought maybe things could return to normal, but Ron was apparently determined to find a new reason to hate her. She knew that there was evidence pointing towards Crookshanks, but she had been careful with him—she hadn’t let him anywhere near the boys’ dormitory and the fact that Ron thought she hadn’t cared enough to do so stung. Even more so, the fact that Ron was determined to pin this on Crookshanks felt like an attack on her—she knew he didn’t like the cat, but there were many cats in the castle and Scabbers was an old rat. His death could be attributed to many things.

Harry shifted awkwardly beside her and she knew he felt uncomfortable, trying to decide between comforting her or Ron. She suspected he wanted to go and check on Ron, but felt obligated to stay when she started crying.

“Hermione, do you think you could maybe apologise—just to make up for it? I’m not say Crookshanks did it!” he said hurriedly, noticing the expression on Hermione’s face, “but if you at least said you were sorry Scabbers died, maybe…” he trailed off and Hemione suspected he too doubted Ron would forgive her.

“I’m sorry his rat might be dead but I won’t say Crookshanks had anything to do with it! I’ve kept him away from your dorm and there’s no way to prove it.”

Harry glanced at the hairs, still on her book.

“Well—the evidence does point towards Crookshanks.”

“Okay, side with Ron, I knew you would! First the Firebolt, now Scabbers, everything’s my fault, isn’t it! Just leave me alone, Harry, I’ve got a lot of work to do!”

Hermione turned away and picked up her books, piling her arms high. She pushed past Harry and made her way up to the girl’s dorm, unable to stop the tears streaming down her face.

\---

Draco caught Hermione’s arm as she left breakfast the next morning. Hermione looked around the Entrance Hall alarmed—what was Draco thinking, coming up to her in the open like this?

“Everyone’s still at breakfast, calm down,” Draco said, correctly interpreting her panic.

“What are you doing?” Hermione hissed at him.

“I saw Potter got his broom back and thought that meant you might have made up but—well, you don’t exactly look happy. Are you okay?”

Hermione stared at Draco, taken aback by his observation—was her fight with Ron that obvious?

“Um, Ron and I had another argument,” Hermione began, her voice sounding unnaturally high to her own ears. “I thought—I thought Harry and I might have made up because he got his broom back but then Ron’s rat died and he’s blaming Crookshanks and—” Hermione broke off, a sob rising in her chest and stopping her words.

“Wait what—have you and Potter made up? Who’s Crookshanks?”

“My cat and he has no proof that Crookshanks did anything! And no—Harry took Ron’s side.”

“Prick,” said Draco vehemently and Hermione tried to give him a disapproving look, but failed.

“It’s nothing, really. They were mad before and I dealt with it—I just thought for a moment we could make up but it’s fine, I’m fine.”

Draco looked at her disbelievingly, but was prevented from responding by the sound of the Great Hall doors opening. Hermione darted away from Draco and pushed out the front doors into the grounds. She didn’t notice Flint, Crabbe and Goyle walking up to Malfoy, with tattered, black robes folder over their arms.

\---

Hermione’s eyes shot to Harry, fear overwhelming her as she saw three dark shapes walk onto the pitch. Harry could not fall again, she was not going to have to watch him fall again—she could not watch Harry plummet to the ground like that a second time. She tried to cry out, to think of anything she could do to help, but her mind knew nothing of how to defend herself against dementors—why had she not spent her time researching that? If she had looked it up, then she could have made sure Harry was safe. How could she protect him? She had to think of something before the dementors made her freeze again—although these dementors seemed to be taking longer to spread their miserable emptiness. Perhaps she was too far to feel it instantly. There was no time to worry about that, however. She pulled out her wand, trying to think desperately of any spell.

But Harry had seen the dementors and instead of falling, he pulled out his wand and opened his mouth into a shout she could not hear. A silver animal burst from his wand and charged at the dementors who—fell? Surely dementors couldn’t fall over—they seemed to lack enough substance to fall. Yet the dementors on the Quidditch Pitch lay in a tangled heap on the ground as Harry sped forward and caught the snitch.

Hermione leant over the railing, wondering why no teachers were running toward the dementors. Had Harry killed them? Could they even be killed? Surely someone ought to check, rather than leaving them on the ground. Lupin walked onto the pitch and Hermione felt relieved. Strangely, he chose to approach Harry rather than the dementors—what was he doing?

Hermione shifted her eyes back to the dementors. There was something that seemed wrong about them—almost clumsy. The dementors were shifting, moving slowly, their robes twisting oddly. It was as though the dementor inside them was trying to come out. But what popped out was no dementor—it was a human face. The face of the Slytherin captain, Flint. Beside him, Crabbe and Goyle appeared too, looking equally confused and angry—their typical look. The robes shifted again and Hermione saw a shock of white hair. Her heart sank to her stomach—it could not be.

Draco’s face appeared a moment later, yelling something furiously at Goyle. Hermione could hardly recognise the face contorted in anger below her. She felt sick, the realisation of what Draco had done—and what he had been trying to do—hitting her at full force. McGonagall was yelling at the Slytherins but Hermione’s ears had shut out the sounds around her. She felt sick and pushed her way past the crowd, unsure of where she was going, but certain she couldn’t stay on the pitch a moment longer.

She found herself in the girls’ bathroom on the first floor, sobs racking through her body with no one to catch her this time as she collapsed to the ground. She had never felt more stupid—what had she been thinking, trusting a Malfoy? Had she really believed he was any different from his family, from any other Slytherin? He was not her friend—she doubted he could have ever been. What kind of friend watches someone cry, comforts them, and then orchestrates the very same situation to make her cry again? Draco had held her after Harry had fallen, he had seemed to support her—now she was certain he was only hoping to hear the quickest update on Harry’s condition to know whether his competition had been wiped out.

Hermione couldn’t excuse this on the pressure Draco had told her about—she highly doubted Draco was required to take part in that prank. He could have found a way around it, suggested something less dangerous, supported his housemates without actually being a part of it—he could have warned her. That had been their agreement. They could be friends as long as he warned her of anything he was being forced to do. This had taken planning—Draco had to have known about it and he had spoken to her only moments before the match. He could have warned her and chose not to. He chose not to warn her and he chose not to be her friend.

She could hear the sound of the school returning to the castle, houses returning to their common rooms. Hermione did not force herself to move. She did not want to see anyone and she knew there was no one who would notice her missing. She lay curled on the bathroom floor for so long, that she began to grow numb where her body lay against the cold tiles. The castle had fallen silent again—she was grateful none of the passing girls had stopped in this particular bathroom. She had no energy to force herself into a dignified position.

At some point, her sobs had stopped forcing their way out of her and her tears had fallen silently to the ground. She stood slowly, feeling ill and drained of any emotion—Draco may not have been a dementor but she certainly felt like she had been attacked by one. She teared up again, remembering Draco had been the one to first answer her questions on dementors. Had it all been a strategy to get to Harry? Or was it worse—had he done it only to be cruel, with the intention of hurting her when he got bored?

Hermione walked to the sink and splashed some water on her face, hoping it would make her eyes look a little less puffy. The mirror above the sink did not seem to agree. She shook her head and walked out of the bathroom, head low and hair covering her face. Her only goal was to get to the Gryffindor common room and then to her dormitory. She could find a textbook there, something to distract herself.

As the thought crossed her mind, Hermione felt her stomach lurch. She had left her Arithmancy book in the dungeon classroom. It had been so heavy and Draco had suggested leaving it for the next day so she wouldn’t have to carry it. It had felt like a nice gesture the day before, but now it felt like a trap. She knew he would be there now.

Hermione stood on the steps, halfway to Gryffindor tower. She tried to convince herself that she didn’t need the textbook. Maybe she could come back later, when Draco would be gone? But it was no use—she was behind and had to catch up on several chapters of readings that Professor Vector had set over the week. She needed to get that book now, or she would never get it all finished in time.

She turned slowly and dragged her feet down the staircase, feeling as though her whole body was being pulled in the opposite direction. Each step was a struggle as she pushed herself closer to the person she could not stand to see. She hoped desperately that he would not be there.

She should have known better than to hope. Hermione pushed open the door and saw Draco leaning against a desk, watching the door. She tried not to notice that the desks were still in the position they had left them, pushed next to each other. He looked relieved to see her.

“I’m only getting my book.” Hermione’s voice sounded colder than she had ever thought it could be.

“Please just—”

Hermione shoved past him to get her textbook from the desk behind him. She stormed back towards the door but stopped as she reached for the handle. She turned around slowly to look at him.

“I really trusted you. I guess that was foolish, wasn’t it?”

“ _No_ , Hermio—”

Hermione didn’t hear the rest of Draco’s yell as the door slammed behind her.


	10. The Role of a Slytherin

_“No man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good.”_

_C.S. Lewis_

“FUCK!” Draco yelled, pushing himself off the table and kicking the chair in front of him aside.

He stormed to the door, reaching for the handle. His hand grasped it, but did not move. He could still hear the resounding slam. Draco was sure if he opened the door, he would still be able to see Hermione and call to her, but he could not push the look on her face out of his head. She hadn’t even been able to stand looking at him—she couldn’t get out of the room quick enough. If he stepped into the hallway, she would surely just run from him. There was no point in chasing her—she would not speak to him if she didn’t want to.

Draco dropped his hand from the door and began pacing the room, kicking aside any chair or desk unfortunate enough to be in his path. He couldn’t decide who he was more angry at—himself or Hermione. He’d done the stupid prank for her—couldn’t she see that? Potter and Weasley had been horrible to her for weeks. They’d ignored her and made her feel worthless. They’d left her alone for a week over break, with no one to speak to and no friends. How did they still have her loyalty over him? Draco had been her friend—he had been there when Potter and Weasley had been mean to her. He had been the one to pick her back up, he had been the one who was her friend when she had no one else. Potter and Weasley had given up on her as soon as there was a problem—over a stupid broom and a stupider rat. And Draco had listened and said he was her friend—did that mean nothing? Did he mean nothing to her? Why would she choose Potter over him again? What was it that made her loyal to Potter no matter how he treated her and hate Draco so much?

Draco stopped pacing and slid to the floor, leaning against a dusty bookshelf. How had Granger reduced him to sitting on the floor? Malfoys don’t sit on the floor, especially when there are perfectly good chairs right there. But Draco could not bring himself to stand up and find one. He’d kicked most of them over anyway. The thought of it made his foot suddenly throb and he realised how harshly he had been attacking the chairs. It was just another thing for Draco to feel sorry for himself about.

Maybe the prank had been an idiotic idea, but he had only agreed because he had been so angry at Potter. He had been the one to abandon his friend because he cared about a broomstick more than her concern for his safety and because of a ridiculous argument over a rat. All Draco wanted was for Potter to experience some of the pain and embarrassment that Hermione had felt since he had stopped talking to her. When Flint had presented the idea, Draco thought it was exactly what Potter deserved. When Hermione had said they had made up, Draco considered calling it off—he didn’t want to upset Hermione if she and Potter were friends again, but when she told him that Potter had chosen Weasley and a stupid rat over her, Draco was furious. He thought it would be a funny prank, give Potter what he deserves and the Slytherins a laugh.

He wasn’t supposed to get caught. Potter wasn’t supposed to catch the snitch. It wasn’t supposed to happen right as the snitch appeared and look like an attempt to sabotage the match. But that was what had happened. Hermione probably thought he cared about Quidditch more than her. He did care about Quidditch but that hadn’t been his motivation. He’d done it to try to help her, to make Potter understand what he had put her through—because she deserved better friends than Potter and Weasley. But Hermione hadn’t seen it that way. He knew that as soon as he’d seen her face when she walked into the classroom. He had been so hopeful when she walked in. He hadn’t known if she would come, but he had hoped—he had thought she would at least want to hear him out.

He couldn’t understand why she didn’t stay to hear him out—why she didn’t even want to speak to him. Had it been that easy for her to give up on their friendship? Had she always doubted him and just taken this as confirmation—run at the first chance? Potter hadn’t even been hurt. Draco was already punished for it—aside from the embarrassment of the failed prank, he had several detentions to serve with McGonagall. Was that not enough for Hermione? He had tried so many times to apologise to her, to make up for the person he was forced to be and made into, but she would never accept him. She never believed he could be any better and was just waiting for her proof. He could spend his whole life apologising to her and she would never stop being suspicious of him.

Draco pushed himself off the floor and muttered a charm to right the chairs in the room, feeling slightly ashamed as he looked at the mess he’d made. He crossed the room to the door and, this time, pushed it open. The hall was dark and empty and Draco felt hollow as he stepped into it and began to walk to the Slytherin dorms.

\---

Draco was startled by a yell as he stepped into the Slytherin common room.

“Malfoy! Where have _you_ been? Avoiding us so you don’t have to explain why you ruined my plan?”

Flint was staring at him furiously, a crowd of Slytherins standing behind him.

“What’s your problem?”

“My problem is everything was planned out perfectly—then you fell off Goyle’s shoulders and knocked us all over!”

“That wasn’t my fault! Potter cast some spell at us that knocked me over!”

“Didn’t seem to knock anyone else over—just you.”

“Because you insisted I stand on Goyle’s shoulders!”

“Don’t you dare blame me!”

Draco opened his mouth to yell again but stopped when he saw the look on Flint’s face. His expression was angrier than he had ever seen it—if Draco wanted to keep his position on the team, he’d need to take the fall for this.

“Fine!” Draco said, more harshly than he’d meant to. “Fine—it was my fault.”

Draco hated having to say it—it made him look weak, giving in with the whole house watching. He hated the smile that spread across Flint’s face as Draco took the blame. Flint got exactly what he wanted—he was now the hero of the Slytherin house, the strongest one, the one to be feared. Draco knew that Flint ought to be blamed for the prank’s failure, if anyone. He had been the one to plan it, Draco had just followed orders. But Flint wouldn’t allow that and he had leverage of being Quidditch Captain. So Draco would be forced to take the blame and Flint would be continued to be admired by all of Slytherin.

Draco pushed past the Slytherins and went to his dorm, hoping Greg and Vincent weren’t there. Thankfully, when he pushed open the door, he only saw Blaise. He turned around when Draco walked in and Draco was disappointed to see that his face was as cold as the Slytherins that had been waiting for him in the common room. He didn’t say anything, however and Draco was grateful that he could get ready for bed in silence.

It only took him a few minutes to prepare for bed—he didn’t want to be in the open when Greg and Vincent came in. They were his friends, but he knew they’d follow whoever the biggest bully was—after what happened in the common room, Draco knew they’d be taking Flint’s side. It’d blow over, but he’d have to endure his fair share of unpleasantness before then. Blaise seemed to be the only one who managed to stay out of this sort of thing—he never picked sides but always seemed to watch on silently. Draco wished that could be him, but his name made it a little too difficult for him to blend in.

He pulled the hangings shut around his bed, hoping that would deter anyone from speaking to him for the rest of the night, at least. He didn’t feel the least bit tired, however—his mind was still whirring from the day’s events. Only yesterday he had felt so confident and sure in himself—he thought he had perfected the balancing act between the two Dracos he was trying to be. He had spent the day studying with Hermione and joking with his friends and it had been so easy. In a day it had all fallen apart—none of them were speaking to him now and each one of them hated him for the same reason. He had been the prat who had joined in a prank that was doomed to fail. Really, he should be blamed for it—he should have known it wouldn’t work as soon as Flint suggested it, yet he decided to go along with it, thinking he could impress Flint and Hermione at the same time.

Not that he wanted to impress Hermione—he thought he could just make her happier by showing that he was a good friend. Apparently, she didn’t agree. He had thought she would have stopped caring about Potter, maybe be pleased to see him get what he deserved after how he had treated her, but he had been wrong. Potter didn’t deserve her friendship, he didn’t even care about it. It had made Draco so furious to see Potter treating Hermione like she didn’t matter that he had acted in revenge, thinking that was what Hermione wanted too.

Draco didn’t know why he even cared that Hermione was angry with him—she was the one who hadn’t heard him out. He should be angry at her for abandoning their friendship so easily—and he was, but he was too upset by it to put much energy into being angry. Why was he more upset by losing his friendship with Hermione than losing the respect and friendship of everyone in his house? Was it just because he knew that his house would eventually forgive him? But he was still holding onto the hope that Hermione would forgive him. If it wasn’t that, then what was it?

Perhaps it was that at some point Draco had, without realising, decided which version of himself he wanted to be—someone kind and a good friend rather than someone feared and respected. He still wanted all those things, but perhaps some were pulling on him more strongly. Was it Hermione who made him realise that, or did he become her friend because that was already there? He couldn’t understand it, but he knew that the person who could help him understand was the person who was the least likely to ever speak to him again.

Hermione had believed in the better version of him—or at least, he’d thought she had. She’d given up on that today and Draco couldn’t decide if that meant that he couldn’t be that person anymore, or if he could even be better without her. He still wanted to be that person, but he didn’t know if he could do it without her help. No one else had cared if Draco could be better—only if he could be what was expected. He’d failed at trying both.

He had barely been friends with Hermione for a few months, but somehow her friendship had become important to him—when had he allowed that to happen? He couldn’t understand it—he hadn’t had a friendship like that before and he hadn’t realised how much he valued it until she had abandoned it—abandoned him. Part of him wanted to reach out, owl her, flick her a note, send her a message that he was sorry—but the other part of him was too hurt by her lack of faith in him. He couldn’t bring himself to beg for her friendship and be turned away again. No Slytherin, especially no Malfoy, begged for anything. She had made it clear she didn’t want to speak to him and he could not push it—he needed to hold on to the last shred of dignity that he had.

Draco heard the door open and froze in his bed—the heavy footsteps were undoubtedly Vincent and Greg’s. He heard them stepping towards his bunk and slowly began to shift down so that he could pretend to be asleep.

“He’s gone to sleep. No point in waking him, you can yell at him tomorrow,” came Blaise’s tired voice.

“Don’t tell us what to do,” Vincent said angrily.

“Boys, I’m tired. I am going to bed and will be _severely_ pissed off if you wake me up.”

Vincent and Greg didn’t say anything. Draco suspected Blaise was holding his wand, casually, but just obviously enough to make the threat clear. He had seen Blaise make that threat before. Vincent and Greg’s footsteps retreated and Draco let out a sigh of relief. He was sure that Blaise really did only care about his own sleep, but he couldn’t help but hope that Blaise was on his side.

\---

Draco was serving his detention the following Monday with McGonagall. Flint, Greg and Vincent were meant to be serving it with him too, though none of them had spoken to him about it. He arrived at McGonagall’s office at five to eight—the other Slytherins were not there yet, but he found that unsurprising. By the time they arrived, he was already working on the first of many tasks McGonagall had given them—feeding the creatures she had for her transfiguration classes to practise on. It was an unpleasant job, though Draco was grateful it wasn’t worse. The other Slytherins snickered when he dropped a worm on his shoe and he ignored them.

The night went on slowly and Draco busied himself by trying to get the work McGonagall had given them done as quickly as possible. Flint, Vincent and Greg didn’t seem to share this need to rush and took their time on each task—he was sure they were trying to make sure he did most of the work. At ten McGonagall spoke again to dismiss them and reminded them to return on Wednesday for their next detention.

Draco pushed his way out first, hoping to avoid any confrontation on the way back to the dorms. As he rounded the corner of the Transfiguration corridor, however, he felt a stinging jinx hit his arm. He bit his lip to keep from crying out—he didn’t need to show them that they had succeeded in hurting him. Draco sped up, taking a different path than usual, hoping to lose the other Slytherins. Once he was sure he was alone, he looked down at his arm and saw the large welt that had spread across it. Of course, it had landed on the arm that had only just healed. The welt stung and burnt horribly. He pulled down his sleeves to cover it and continued to the Slytherin common room.

He spotted Vincent and Greg in the common room and headed straight to his dorm—at least he would have some peace there. Hopefully he would be able to find an anti-jinx or a potion to fix his arm in one of his textbooks. He cradled his arm as he opened his trunk and looked through the stash of potions he had brought with him—he wasn’t entirely sure which one would help and felt even more irritated as he searched through his trunk. He pulled out his defence book, giving up on finding the right potion and hoped there would be a section on anti-jinxes. There was, but it didn’t seem to have anything that specifically addressed the welt on his arm. He rolled up his sleeve to compare his arm to a picture in the book.

A shadow moved over his book and Draco looked up suddenly, worried Greg or Vincent had come to make sure he didn’t find an antidote. He was surprised to see Blaise standing over him instead. He held out his hand and motioned for Draco to show his arm.

“Try _glaciana_.”

Draco nodded and Blaise turned away, sitting on his bed and pulling the curtains around him.

“ _Glaciana_ ,” Draco murmured and he instantly felt a cold sensation wrap around his arm and ease the stinging sensation.

The welt faded and he felt no more than a gentle throb. Draco sighed in relief and stared up at the curtains Blaise had disappeared behind.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

He was unsurprised when no response came.

\---

The next morning Draco awoke early after a restless night of sleep. He could see the sun beginning to creep up through the curtains and couldn’t convince himself to go back to sleep. He lay in bed for an hour, trying not to think about Hermione, Flint, Greg, Vincent or the number of other people who were angry with him, without much luck. He pushed aside most of his worries about Flint, Greg and Vincent fairly easily—he knew how this worked, though he’d never been on the receiving end. Once a person did something that brought shame to the house, the rest of the house would have to make it clear they didn’t approve—to protect Slytherin’s reputation, of course. Once the point was made clear, they were forgiven. Draco had always thought it was a little excessive, but some people took it very seriously.

Draco was sure he would only have to endure the Slytherins’ punishment for a week, at most. He could cope with that. But he didn’t know how Hermione worked—he suspected it was not so easy to understand. He couldn’t even fully understand why she was so angry with him—he knew she was upset that his prank had targeted Potter, but he couldn’t figure out why she thought that was so horrible. She and Potter hadn’t spoken for weeks—why did she still care about him?

The reason came to his mind easily, as though he had always known it but hadn’t been ready to admit it. Hermione was a person far better than himself. She was able to forgive almost anyone—he was proof of that. She was kind enough to forgive him and befriend him. It was only natural that she would forgive Potter for the things he had done to her—she had forgiven Draco for far worse. He doubted she would ever forgive him again, however—she had chosen chasing after Potter’s friendship over the one he attempted to offer to her.

He felt a rush of anger, unsure if it was directed at Potter or Hermione. He couldn’t direct much of his anger at Hermione—it all seemed to rebound on himself. He had seen how upset she had been when Potter fell in the last match—why did he think she would ever see the good intention behind his actions? She only saw her friend causing her to relive a terrible experience.

He had been a complete idiot. He had thought for once he could create a balance but he had toppled off and failed both sides. He had to try to make up with Hermione—he could put aside his pride for a moment to apologise. The faint outline of the welt on his arm reminded him that he didn’t have much pride left anyway.

Draco slowly eased himself out of bed, hoping not to wake up any of his dorm-mates. He was surprised to see that Blaise’s bed was already empty—he had no clue what Blaise spent his time doing and quite honestly, had never cared enough to find out. Now he felt oddly curious about it, but the thought was waylaid by his plan to get Hermione to listen to him. He bundled himself in layers of coats and scarves, before setting off to the owlery. He had grabbed a parchment and quill as he left and spent most of the walk there trying to think of what to say to Hermione to make her listen to him, though nothing he said sounded right.

He reached the owlery with his mind still blank and he stood, staring out the window and clutching the parchment and quill in his gloved hands. Deciding he was being ridiculous, Draco shifted the parchment and forced himself to write something down.

_Hermione,_

_I want to tell you that I am sorry. I don’t know what you think I was planning—okay, well I have some guesses but I don’t know if they’re right. I don’t think what you think was what I was actually doing. That makes no sense, I’m sorry. What I’m trying to say is I want to explain what happened—I want you to at least know the full story before you decide you hate me._

_I’m going to be in the dungeon classroom every afternoon this week—I need some time away from the Slytherins. They’re not happy with me either. Anyway, if you can bear to be in the same room as me, I’ll be there. I just want to say that I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to be the outcome. I got things confused and I thought that this would work out. I was an idiot._

_Please, just come talk to me._

_Draco._

Draco looked at the page—it looked pathetic, but he was so exhausted that he couldn’t bring himself to rewrite the letter. Besides, he hadn’t brought another piece of parchment. He called an owl over to him and tied the letter to it, instructing it to deliver the letter with the rest of the morning mail.

Draco stayed in the owlery for a while longer, not wanting or having anywhere else to go. The sun had fully risen and he could see signs of life from within the castle. A glance at his watch told him it was almost time for breakfast, so he began his descent from the owlery and walked back across the grounds to the castle. As he passed through the entrance courtyard, he saw Blaise sitting in an alcove and reading a book. He looked up as Draco walked past and nodded at him. Draco nodded back and continued into the castle.

He ate breakfast slowly, waiting for Hermione to come down and for the morning mail to arrive. She came in shortly after he did and ate alone, with a textbook propped against a milk jug. Draco tried not to laugh as the jug tilted under the weight of the book. He looked up, hearing the sound of the mail and feeling nervous. Hermione didn’t seem to notice, however—not even when the owl landed right beside her. It took a sharp peck on her arm for Hermione to look up. Draco thought she looked confused as she untied the letter. She stared at it for a moment before opening it cautiously.

The parchment had been lit in blue flames before she had time to read it. Draco stared, perplexed—what had happened to his letter? His confusion disappeared when Hermione looked up and stared directly at him with a cold fury, before picking up her textbook and walking out of the Great Hall.

\---

Draco didn’t see Hermione again until their Arithmancy lesson later that day. She surveyed the room, apparently looking for an empty seat, before sitting next to Draco and turning away from him. He tried to slip her a note to ask her to meet him in the dungeon classroom, but it disappeared in another flash of blue flames the moment Professor Vector turned his back. Draco didn’t attempt to write another note.

At the end of class, he hurried ahead of her to cut her off in the passage to the library—it was lunchtime and he was certain she would cut through this way to get to the library. He waited for several minutes, but she did not come. Draco slumped against the wall—she was so determined to avoid him that she had changed her routine so that he could not find her. He decided that since he was halfway there, he may as well go to the library to check if she had gone there another way—if not, he could at least get some homework done.

A quick glance at the library told him she was not there—she must have found somewhere else to study. Perhaps she had gone to the Gryffindor common room to ensure he would not find her. He found a table and pulled out the Arithmancy homework, deciding it was best to start it while it was fresh in his head. After a few minutes, it became clear that he would need to do some extra reading to understand this particular homework assignment. Draco left his books and walked over to the Arithmancy section.

He froze as he stared down the aisle—Hermione was standing there, with her nose in the exact book Draco had been hoping to find. Apparently, she too had decided to start on the homework assignment. He knew this was his perfect opportunity to try to speak to her, but now that it presented itself, he found himself unable to move. A student behind Draco coughed and Hermione looked up. Her eyes narrowed when she saw him and she moved to walk around him.

“Wait—please just talk to me,” he said quietly.

“No—leave me alone,” she hissed back as she tried to push him.

“Let me explain.”

“No.”

“Just come to the dungeon classroom—”

“No,” she repeated and shoved him out of the way.

Draco sighed and pressed his head into his hands.

\---

Draco decided to make one last attempt to speak to Hermione the next day. If this failed, he would give up. It was a stupid idea and anyone who was paying any attention would probably pick up on what he was trying to do, but he hoped people would think he was seeking her out because she was a Gryffindor and he was a bored Slytherin and leave it at that. Draco knew Hermione’s Muggle Studies class finished at the same time as his Charms class and her classroom was opposite his. If he timed this right, he could attempt to speak to her as they both finished their classes.

Hermione didn’t even look at him as she left the class—he wasn’t sure if she had even noticed he was there. She looked preoccupied and gave a cautious look to the students in the hall, before stepping inside a separate classroom. Draco didn’t take the time to puzzle over why she would be doing this, when her next class should be Ancient Runes, on the other side of the castle. He crossed the hallway and followed her inside.

“Hermione,” he said, closing the door behind him.

She jumped—her back was to him and she seemed to fumble with something before turning around to look at him.

“Malfoy! Why are you following me?”

“You know why! I need to speak to you.”

“I have to go, I’ll be late for class.”

She began to walk towards the door.

“Why did you come in here then?” he asked, confused.

“None of your business!” she said, shrilly.

“Okay, okay. Can you just come to the dungeon classroom to talk this afternoon?”

“I need to go,” she said, and she walked around him and out the door.

\---

Draco walked from Transfiguration down to the dungeons, unsure of if it was even worth going. Hermione had not seemed all that enthused about meeting him there, but she hadn’t exactly said no. He was holding onto a foolish hope that she would have a change of heart and decide to talk to him. He knew it was ill-advised to let himself cling to this—she wasn’t going to come, he was sure of it. But she hadn’t said no and his mind couldn’t let go of that.

Draco reached the dungeon classroom and tried not to feel disappointed when he saw it was empty. Hermione wouldn’t have made it down yet— and she probably wasn’t coming anyway. Draco sat down at a desk—the desk he had sat at when he and Hermione had worked together, specifically. He tried not to focus on that memory as he pulled out his Arithmancy textbook and began the work he had planned to do at lunch the day before. He had never gotten the book he’d been looking for and now attempted to answer the questions based on what he knew.

He was halfway through the Arithmancy questions when he heard the door creak open behind him. His head whipped around to see Hermione stepping into the classroom.

“You came,” he said, relieved.

“I don’t want to hear your _explanation_ ,” she said, scathingly, “I’m just here to tell you to leave me alone. I don’t want to speak to you.”

Draco paused, halfway to standing up. He couldn’t think what to say—this had been his last attempt. He was sure if she spoke to him it would be to hear him out. He had never expected that she would come to tell him this. She hated him even more than he had thought.

“I wasn’t going to try again after this,” he said, quietly. “I thought if you didn’t come I would give up.”

Hermione snorted disbelievingly.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do by attempting to make me fall for this act again, but I’m done trying to understand it. I’m done with all of this.”

“You could have not come,” Draco thought aloud. “Why did you come?”

“Because you wouldn’t stop pestering me! I thought this was the only way to get you to stop.”

“I would have stopped.”

“Great. Stop now then.”

“I will, if you just hear me out.”

“I don’t want to hear you out! It’s always the same—someone was pressuring you, you had to make the hard choice, you didn’t mean it, it wasn’t _personal_. Well, Malfoy, to me it was personal—it was all personal and it hurt! I actually thought you were my friend.”

“Please call me Draco—and I am your friend.”

“No, you are not, _Malfoy_.”

“Call me Draco.”

“No. I have no reason to.”

Draco collapsed against the desk, exhausted. She really had given up on him.

“I am your friend, Hermione.” She winced when he said her name and he tried to keep control over his voice as he continued. “I am. It was a stupid thing to do but I did it because I was angry at Potter—”

“I know, okay? You were angry because Harry’s better at quidditch. You could have killed him! Put my feelings aside—which I am sure you did—how am I supposed to be friends with someone that didn’t care if another person died just because they were better at quidditch?”

“NO!” Draco’s voice came out louder than he meant it to and he flushed as he saw Hermione jump back. “No. No, that’s not right, that’s not why I did it—”

“I don’t care why you did it! Don’t you understand that—I don’t care!”

“No, I get that.”

Hermione carried on as though he hadn’t spoken.

“Whatever your plan was—you could have killed Harry. That’s who you are—so selfish you don’t even think about how you might hurt other people.”

It was as though Hermione had punched him. He couldn’t even think of a response. That was what she truly thought of him and maybe that was really all he was. A person who always acted with his own interests first, not even noticing the harm that he caused. When Flint suggested the idea to him, he hadn’t even thought of Potter getting hurt—he only wanted to humiliate him. He hadn’t thought beyond that point—he was too selfish and stupid to think of the implications.

Hermione huffed at him, apparently satisfied that he had gotten her point. She turned around to walk out the door, pausing as she pulled it open.

“You said you’d always warn me. If you hadn’t meant it, you would have told me. It’s simple really.”

And with that, she shut the door behind her, leaving Draco alone and more confused than ever.

\---

Draco tried to finish his homework in the dungeon classroom, but Hermione’s words kept echoing in his head. After an hour, he gave up and decided to brave the Slytherin dorms. It was empty when he arrived and he collapsed onto his bed, dropping his book-bag beside it. He thought back to the conversation with Hermione and groaned loudly.

“Shall I give you some privacy?”

Draco sat up and saw Blaise smirking at him from the doorway.

“Uh, no—nope, I’m fine.”

Blaise chuckled and crossed to his bed. Draco stared after him curiously.

“Thanks for telling me the anti-jinx—for the stinging hex,” Draco blurted out.

“You’re very welcome,” Blaise said lightly as he bent over his trunk.

“How did you know it?”

Draco didn’t know why he was continuing the conversation—perhaps because it was the first time he had spoken to someone without being yelled at all week.

“I read it somewhere.”

“Oh.”

“Yes,” Blaise said knowingly, though Draco couldn’t decide what he knew.

Blaise pulled a book from his trunk and sat across his bed. He flicked through the pages, then paused and looked up at Draco, as though he was deciding something.

“So, who are you moaning over, Draco?” he asked, watching Draco curiously.

Draco felt flustered.

“What—I wasn’t moaning!”

“It sounded a lot like moaning…but I’m sure you knew what you were doing.”

Draco hesitated, thinking he could end the conversation there—but part of him desperately wanted to talk about all the things that had been plaguing his mind over the past few days.

“I just did something stupid.”

“Yes, I think that much is obvious.”

Draco paused again, unsettled. It wasn’t surprising that Blaise could guess what he was referring to, but it was slightly disconcerting.

“A lot of people are angry at me about the dementor prank and I’ve tried everything to make up for it, but I don’t think they’ll forgive me.”

“Slytherins will forgive you—you know how this works. You deal with some abuse for a short time and then it is forgotten—by everyone. Of course, if you are referring to someone who isn’t a Slytherin…”

Draco hated the suggestive tone in Blaise’s voice.

“What—no!” Blaise raised an eyebrow at Draco’s sudden defensiveness. Draco steadied himself before speaking again. “No, it’s just the Slytherins.”

“Well, then you needn’t worry,” Blaise said, picking up his book again.

Draco felt disappointed—he had missed his chance to actually tell Blaise what he was so upset about. He pushed the thought aside—he hardly knew Blaise. It would be unwise to share such a heavy secret with someone who he did not know he could trust. A part of him trusted Blaise instinctively, but he couldn’t tell if that was all just a part of the persona he presented—quiet, calm, trustworthy. A person like that could learn anyone’s secrets without their intentions ever being questioned. No, Draco couldn’t share his secret. But he couldn’t help from wishing he was able to.


	11. Unheard Appeals

Hermione looked out the castle windows at the setting sun as she hurried towards the Entrance Hall. It had been a complete waste of time to speak to Malfoy. She couldn’t understand why he was still pestering her and she didn’t believe that he had been planning on stopping. Maybe this had been his plan all along—a drawn out process of gaining her trust just to humiliate her. He had done far worse than that—instead of just ridiculing her, he had waited until she was alone and friendless and then taken away the one thing she thought she could still trust. She could not allow herself to become vulnerable enough to fall for it again—she would not hear him out. He was probably laughing with his Slytherin friends about it right now—although, now that she thought about it, she recalled him saying he was avoiding the Slytherins. Perhaps they were angry with him over the failed prank—it had looked pathetic when they had been unable to pull it off and he would be to blame if he had been the mastermind behind it.

Hermione reached the front doors and pushed through them,walking in the direction of Hagrid’s hut. She tried to push aside any thoughts of Malfoy and focus on the information she had researched for Hagrid instead. She was hoping some of what she had found would help in Buckbeak’s defence—though Lucius Malfoy would probably do anything to ensure Hagrid’s misery. She was so angry that she had allowed herself to waste her time on Malfoy—she would now only have a short time with Hagrid, needing to be back at the castle before dark according to the new security measures. Hermione was sure tonight would be another late night of study. She could have avoided that—or at least made it a slightly earlier night—if she hadn’t let Malfoy’s pestering get to her.

A light was on in Hagrid’s window and she heard his loud steps moving towards the door after she knocked. She had found herself looking forward to spending time with Hagrid—he was really the only person who spoke to her these days.

“Hermione!” he said delightedly when he pulled open the door, “Back again are yeh?”

“Yeah, I have some new information I’ve found to help with Buckbeak’s case. I really think we can build a strong defence,” she said, stepping inside.

“Yeh too good, Hermione. Sit down, have a cuppa.”

Hermione took a seat at his table and accepted the cup of tea he offered, pulling out her notes.

“So, I’ve found some similar cases that you should be able to reference—the Ministry should be accountable to their previous standards. If you can prove other creatures have been let off on the same or similar crime, then they can’t charge Buckbeak without contradicting themselves.”

“When you pu’ it like tha’ it sounds like he has a chance,” Hagrid said, sitting down and leafing through the notes she’d written.

“He does, Hagrid! And I’m sure I can find more examples—the more we have, the stronger your case will be.”

“Hermione you don’ need to do tha’. Yeh’ve done enough. Yeh must have work yeh need to be doin’.”

Hermione looked down at the table.

“I do—but I have lots of time these days to get it all done,” she said, quietly.

“Ron and Harry still no’ speakin’ to yeh, then?”

Hermione sat very still, trying to compose herself—Hagrid had picked up pretty quickly that Harry and Ron weren’t speaking to her and he’d continued to check up on her each time she visited. She tried her best not to let on how much it was upsetting her, but she wasn’t able to stop herself from crying. She felt Hagrid’s large hand on her back and was unable to hold back the tears she had been trying not to let out all afternoon.

“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to brush away her tears.

“Don’ be sorry—it’s not righ’, them treatin’ yeh like this.”

“I suppose they have a right to be upset with me, it’s just really hard because I don’t have any friends at all now and it’s—it’s really lonely.”

“C’mon, Hermione, yeh know that they’re bein’ pig-headed—you can’t be blamed for all this.”

“I’m trying to remind myself that, but they were still my best friends. I miss them and it’s so stupid because they obviously don’t miss me. And—and especially after Ron got attacked—I mean what if something happened and he was still angry at me? It’s just too horrible to think about. And now I have no friends, not even—” she broke off realising what she almost said. Hagrid didn’t seem to have picked up on it, however.

“I know, I know,” Hagrid said, patting her back reassuringly and pushing her into the table, “bu’ Ron’s okay, righ’? And they’ll ge’ over it. They’ll realise what a great frien’ they’re missin’.”

Hermione smiled up at Hagrid through her tears.

“Thanks Hagrid,” she said, unsure if she believed him but appreciating it all the same.

Hagrid smiled back and then glanced out the window.

“Blimey—it’s almos’ dark! Yeh better get up to the castle.”

Hermione looked up, realising Hagrid was right.

“I think I’ll walk yeh, actually—almos’ dinnertime anyway and I’d feel better knowin’ yeh’re safe.”

Hermione smiled appreciatively and gathered her things, feeling slightly reassured.

\---

Despite Hagrid’s reassurances, Harry and Ron did not seem to change their attitude towards her. In fact, any chances of reconciliation were most likely lost when the notice for the next Hogsmeade weekend was put up on the Gryffindor bulletin board. Harry and Ron arrived in the common room together and went directly to the crowd around the notice board. They didn’t seem to notice Hermione as they pushed past her to read it. She heard Ron suggest Harry sneak in again and stared at them both, shocked. She hadn’t been able to stop herself from interrupting—how could Harry risk his life like this again? And what kind of friend was Ron to encourage it, especially after he had just been attacked? Feeling desperate, she threatened to tell McGonagall, unsure if she would even be able to go through with the threat but hoping it would be enough to convince Harry to reconsider the danger. Ron simply ignored her and Harry looked on awkwardly, not speaking. She gave up trying when Crookshanks came up to her and she saw the furious look on Ron’s face.

She spent the rest of the evening studying in her dormitory, trying to distract her mind with work to keep herself from crying. She stayed up late again—the time turner didn’t exactly give her the opportunity to catch up on sleep when she was already occupying her bed. Her tiredness grew with her increasing workload, but she was unable to find any solution. She couldn’t drop a subject and let McGonagall down and she certainly couldn’t go to her and explain how stressed she was. McGonagall had trusted her to be able to handle this—she had vouched for her to the Ministry of Magic. She didn’t want to even think of what McGonagall would say if she failed this and disappointed her.

Hermione was thankful that at least one thing in her life had worked—after her confrontation with Draco, he seemed to finally get the message and gave up trying to speak to her. She had noticed him looking at her a few times but had steadily ignored it, sure he was only trying to catch her attention to find another way to ridicule her. She was unable to avoid him in Arithmancy, with no spare seats to move to. He had stopped trying to flick her messages, however, and Hermione found if she twisted slightly and stared directly to the front, she could block him from view and focus reasonably well on the subject. She wasn’t going to let him ruin her favourite subject too.

Hermione had found a routine in her misery, a small comfort that she revelled in. She woke up early to get to breakfast before most people and avoid any awkward confrontations. With the extra time she had before lessons, she had begun going to the library to start her study for the day. She had a perfect schedule of when she would travel to each of her classes and how to do this undetected—the marvel of travelling through time had worn off and Hermione hardly even thought of it now as she jumped back and forth to attend her lessons. Her afternoons and evenings were crammed with study, broken only by dinner—when she remembered to have it. Every few days, she would visit Hagrid and share any research she had done over a cup of tea. He continued to check up on her, though Hermione’s answers remained the same—she found herself crying less, however. She supposed she had accepted this as her new normal. Hagrid had seemed particularly disappointed that Harry and Ron were still not speaking to her the next time she visited, but she found herself unable to be so disappointed when she had stopped hoping.

Hermione had been careful to not let too much on to her parents when she owled them, not wanting them to worry. She simply didn’t mention Harry and Ron any more, hoping her parents wouldn’t question the absence of the names that usually littered her letters. She described the parts of classes she enjoyed, omitting how much time she spent doing work. There wasn’t much she could say about magic to her Muggle parents that they could understand however, and she found that by making her replies less frequent, she would be able to find more to write about in each letter. She made sure to mention that exams were coming up and hoped her parents accepted that as an excuse for why her letters were less frequent.

Hermione decided not to join her classmates in the trip to Hogsmeade over the weekend—it would be disappointing to miss the chance to get out of the castle and visit the wizarding village, but she could not give up such a good opportunity to spend a whole day getting work done with no distractions. Besides, she wouldn’t have much fun visiting the village on her own—it would only serve to remind her of her loneliness, which she was doing everything she could to avoid thinking about.

She watched her dorm-mates clear out of their room the morning of the Hogsmeade, chattering excitedly. For the first time in weeks, she felt faintly optimistic about the day ahead—she felt confident that she could do enough work throughout the day to be caught up for the week ahead. Hermione spent the morning studying in her dorm, progressively crossing off items on her list. She took a break for lunch and considered moving to the grounds to study that afternoon—it was a sunny day and she could be sure that there wouldn’t be many students outside to distract her.

She took a book down with her to read as she ate her lunch, grateful that the hall was relatively quiet with only the first and second years, and the occasional older student who had also decided to stay behind. Hermione served herself a sandwich and sat down to read. She was soon disturbed, however, by someone sitting down beside her. Hermione looked up and was surprised to see Ginny next to her—she was even more surprised to see that Ginny looked angry.

“Uh—hi Ginny,” Hermione said nervously. She had been avoiding Ginny ever since Ron had accused Crookshanks of eating Scabbers, certain that Ginny would take her brother’s side and be furious. It seemed Ginny had sought her out to yell at her too.

“So, you remember who I am, then?” Ginny said, still glaring at her.

“What?” Hermione asked, perplexed.

“You haven’t spoken to me all term. I thought we were friends and now you’re avoiding me!”

“What?” Hermione said, trying to comprehend what Ginny was saying—did she mean that she _wanted_ to speak to Hermione?

“You’re avoiding me!” Ginny repeated furiously.

“I—I thought you wouldn’t want to speak to me,” Hermione said cautiously.

“Where did you get that idea from?”

“Well—Ron’s angry at me because he thinks Crookshanks ate Scabbers so I thought—”

“You thought I wouldn’t want to speak to you because Ron’s a prat?”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh a little, despite herself.

“Ah—well, sort of.”

Ginny shook her head and looked relieved.

“I thought you’d decided you hated me or something!”

“What—no! I thought you would hate me!”

“Oh come on—we both know Ron’s being stupid. Scabbers was old and useless and he was about to die anyway. Who cares whether or not your cat ate him?”

Hermione gave Ginny a shocked look and Ginny chuckled.

“Well it’s true—Scabbers was barely alive. Crookshanks probably did him a favour. Besides, what kind of pet is a _rat_?”

“Ginny!”

“What? I’m just saying—rats are horrible, I don’t understand why Ron even cares about him. Percy got rid of him as soon as he could.”

“I can’t believe you.”

“Ron’s an idiot—he’ll get over it eventually, although honestly I can’t understand why you’d want to be his friend. There are clearly better Weasleys to befriend.”

“You have a point.”

“Of course I do. So next time Ron does something stupid, please don’t assume I am also stupid enough to pick his side.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good,” Ginny said, picking up a sandwich. “So, how have you been, Hermione?”

“Um—I’ve been okay.”

“That was convincing,” Ginny said dryly.

“Okay, I haven’t been great—I thought Harry and Ron may get over all of this but it doesn’t seem like they will.”

“Ron’ll realise he’s been an idiot eventually but he’s so damn stubborn that he’ll have to work up to admitting he’s wrong. I thought Harry would have gotten over this, though—he always seemed like he cared about you two a lot.”

Hermione pretended not to notice the smile that spread across Ginny’s face as she spoke about Harry.

“Yeah, I thought he would too—especially since it’s Ron’s rat. I suppose he did try to talk to me right after and I did sort of snap at him so he probably thinks I don’t want to be their friend.”

“Why did you snap at him?” Ginny asked, curious rather than accusatory.

“He was saying that the evidence did point towards Crookshanks having done it and I just couldn’t stand being accused again.”

“Fair,” Ginny said thoughtfully.

“Sometimes I think he looks like he wants to speak to me but I doubt it.”

“He probably doesn’t know how to make up with you. Give them time, they’ll get over it.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“What about your other friend, anyway? The one you were telling me about—you said things were better with them, right?”

“Oh—they were, but not anymore. I was wrong about them.”

“Uh oh—what happened?”

“It was nothing really—I just put my trust in someone who I shouldn’t have.”

“Oh—I’m sorry for asking about it.” She paused before continuing. “Who—”

Ginny’s question was interrupted by one of her friends sitting down opposite her. Hermione felt panicked, aware of exactly what Ginny had been about to ask. She picked up her book and waved goodbye, hoping Ginny would forget it by the next time they spoke. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Ginny—she just couldn’t bear to relive her embarrassment and foolishness.

Hermione went back to Gryffindor tower and gathered her work for the afternoon to take down to the grounds to study. Once outside, she set her things under the shade of a large tree near the lake and began to work. She found herself able to rush through the work, the light breeze and calming sounds of the lake making the perfect atmosphere to study. She didn’t know whether it was the conversation with Ginny or the fact that she had finished all the work she had planned for the day already, but she felt calmer than she had in weeks. Not even the fact that Ginny had almost asked about Draco could dampen her spirits.

\---

As Hermione walked back to the castle, she saw Hagrid’s hut in the distance—she stared at it for a moment, wondering why there were no lights on. She tried to think where Hagrid could be, before she realised the date. It was Buckbeak’s hearing today and it had slipped her mind. She felt a wave of horror wash over her—how could she have forgotten? She should have been there this morning to wish Hagrid luck before he left. Hagrid had insisted she spend the week leading up to the hearing focusing on schoolwork, insisting that she had done enough to prepare for the case. He had refused any more of her help so she hadn’t been to visit him again and with the increased security around the school she hadn’t even been able to leave the castle. In the business of her studies she had forgotten the precise date of the hearing. The whole time she had been preparing the hearing had felt so distant—she had never realised how close it was.

She stood on the steps leading up to the front door and stared down at Hagrid’s hut. Now that she had remembered she couldn’t think of anything else. This was probably why Hagrid hadn’t reminded her—he hadn’t wanted her to get stressed and spend her time worrying. She desperately wanted to know how it had gone. Hagrid had never said the precise time of the hearing—surely it would have already happened. She should have spoken to him, helped him more, realised how close the hearing was. She should have insisted he tell her how it went. There was nothing she could do now, however, staring down at Hagrid’s hut. She turned back to the castle and walked to Gryffindor tower, feeling miserable again. She hardly noticed the students that had begun returning from Hogsmeade.

Hermione entered the common room and immediately saw an owl at the window. She felt nauseous—owls almost never came to common rooms. They always came in the morning post unless it was urgent. A few people were giving it curious looks and Hermione crossed the room to pull open the window and let it in. Her suspicions were correct—she could see name written on the scroll in a shaky font. She quickly removed it from the owl and unrolled it.

The letter was short. Hermione read it, a weight sinking in her stomach as she did. They had lost. Buckbeak was going to be executed. She sank into a chair, trying not to focus too much on the large splotches of ink where tears had clearly fallen on the page. Why had she listened when Hagrid had said she had done enough? She should have kept looking, she could have found something to back Hagrid’s case. She could have at least been there to support him before he left. She felt tears welling in her own eyes and glanced around the common room—no one was paying her any attention.

She stood up abruptly and walked out the portrait hole. She needed to find Harry and Ron. It didn’t matter if they weren’t speaking to her—they needed to know. They cared about Hagrid too and they would want to know about this. Once she was out of the portrait hole, however, she realised she had no idea how to find them. She didn’t know if they had come back from Hogsmeade yet, or where they would go when they did come back. Her best option would have been to wait in the common room, but she felt too self-conscious to walk back in again after she had just walked in and out so quickly.

After a moment’s thought, she decided to just wait in front of the portrait hole until dinner—she would certainly see them then at least. Standing there, she had nothing to distract herself from the rush of thoughts that came. She was furious with herself for forgetting and not doing more to help—it was her fault. But she also couldn’t help the thought that the case had always been hopeless with Lucius Malfoy so determined to see Buckbeak executed. Thoughts of Lucius Malfoy only turned to thoughts of his son. Malfoy had triumphed again, achieving his mission of making her miserable. He had probably been conspiring with his father the whole time—his testimony would have been what solidified Buckbeak’s loss. She felt furious when she realised she had allowed herself to feel sorry for him, sympathising with him and believing when he had said how bad his injuries had been. Harry had been right—he probably had faked them to get Hagrid fired. Failing that, he went after Buckbeak and succeeded. And she had been the fool who had cried to him over how worried she was about it, all while he was the cause.

She paced before the portrait hole, switching between being angry at herself and Malfoy. She hated how stupid he had made her look and that he still had power to hurt her, despite their brief friendship being over. She only looked up when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Harry and Ron were walking towards the portrait hole and Hermione moved forwards towards them. Ron made some comment about gloating, but Hermione disregarded it. She held out the letter.

“I just thought you ought to know.” Her voice sounded weak as she tried not to cry. “Hagrid lost his case. Buckbeak is going to be executed. He sent me this.”

“They can’t do this. They can’t—Buckbeak isn’t dangerous,” Harry said disbelievingly.

“Malfoy’s Dad’s frightened the Committee into it. You know what he’s like,” Hermione said, certain that she was right—Hagrid had suspected that Malfoy had begun blackmailing people before the trial started. “They’re a bunch of doddery old fools, and they were scared. There’ll be an appeal, though, there always is. Only I can’t see any hope…nothing will have changed.”

“Yeah, it will. You won’t have to do all the work alone this time, Hermione. I’ll help,” Ron said suddenly.

Hermione turned to him, shocked. Ron was staring at her, anger on his face—but she realised it wasn’t directed at her.

“Oh, Ron!” she cried, reaching forward to hug him.

She couldn’t stop herself from crying as he hugged her back—had he really forgiven her? She could hardly believe it. Only hours before she had been thinking he would never forgive her but now he was, offering his help and possibly extending his friendship to her again. She recalled what Ginny had said—Ron was stubborn and Harry probably didn’t know how to reconcile with her. Was it possible that they too had missed her and wanted to be her friends again?

She pulled away from Ron and wiped her eyes.

“Ron, I’m really sorry about Scabbers—”

“Oh, well he was old and he was a bit useless. You never know, Mum and Dad might get me an owl now.”

Hermione could hardly believe it. She knew Ron had cared about Scabbers and that he didn’t mean it when he said he was useless—but that meant he had said it to comfort her. She stared up at him and he looked back at her apologetically. She didn’t press him for any more—this was enough. Part of Hermione wanted to yell at them for the way they had treated her, but she was so grateful to have her best friends back that she couldn’t help but smile at them. They looked relieved and she realised that they were waiting to see if she would accept their friendship. The fact that Ron was willing to take the blame was enough for Hermione—she understood his apology.

“So, should we go visit Hagrid tomorrow?”

Harry and Ron both looked relieved and nodded. They walked into the common room together, arranging plans to speak to Hagrid in their care of Magical Creatures lesson the next day.

\---

Hermione felt happier than she had all term as she walked across the grounds that morning with Harry and Ron. They were walking to Care of Magical Creatures and Ron was asking Hermione all about the research that she had done for Hagrid’s class—apparently he was very serious about his offer to help with the appeal. She couldn’t help but feel hopeful as Ron spoke passionately and suggested new angles they could put forward to the committee. The disappointment she had felt the day before was slowly being chipped away by Ron’s enthusiasm.

All throughout the lesson, Harry, Ron and Hermione remained near Hagrid to talk to him about the trial when he had a chance. He detailed the events of the previous day, describing his attempt to defend Buckbeak and how it was overruled by Lucius Malfoy’s speech. Hermione felt furious as Hagrid told them how Lucius Malfoy influenced the committee’s decision. She turned to glare at Malfoy and was shocked to see he was already looking furiously at her. Had he overheard them criticising his father? She stared back angrily—his father was just as cruel as he was. Malfoy eyes flashed from her own to the backs of Ron and Harry and Hermione continued to stare, bemused. She sighed angrily—Malfoy was not going to get the better of her again, she wasn’t going to stand here trying to understand Malfoy’s anger. Hermione turned around to listen to Hagrid as he finished the lesson.

Harry, Ron and Hermione walked back to the castle with Hagrid, still discussing the case. Hagrid sniffled as he dismissed their assurances that they would continue to work on Buckbeak’s appeal. Hermione watched him helplessly, unable to think of anything to say to comfort him—he seemed to have accepted that Buckbeak was going to be executed. He said goodbye at the castle steps, his face covered by a handkerchief as he turned away from them.

Hermione had done her best to ignore Malfoy walking with Crabbe and Goyle ahead of them on the way up to castle, even as he had turned around to laugh at them, but it was impossible to ignore him as he stepped out from the castle doors and spoke to them. It appeared he had been waiting for Hagrid to leave to begin taunting them.

“Look at him blubber!” Malfoy cried out, laughter ringing in his voice. The once anticipated snarky tone now sounded jarring and unfamiliar.

He fixed his eyes on Hermione, staring at her coldly, despite his insult being directed towards the retreating form of Hagrid. Hermione held his gaze, letting all the anger she had felt towards Malfoy in the past week rise up in her and settle across her features.

“Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic? And he’s supposed to be our teacher!” Malfoy continued, unsatisfied by her lack of response.

Hermione was moving, her hand raised and falling across Malfoy’s face before she had even realised what she was doing.

“Don’t you dare call Hagrid pathetic, you foul—you evil—”

Every insult she had thought and restrained from speaking in the past week was rushing to her lips. She was so furious that the words jumbled as they fell out of her mouth. She wanted her words to have the same impact as her hand across his face. A pink mark had appeared on his cheek looking remarkably like her hand and she stared at it, satisfied, reaching her hand up again.

Ron called her name weakly and grabbed her arm.

“Get off, Ron!” she cried shrilly, determined to make Malfoy feel how much he had hurt her—she wasn’t going to let him say another thing to upset her.

She reached for her wand and Malfoy stepped away from her. He hadn’t moved after she slapped him but had stood there, not even concealing the shock on his face. Hermione faltered as he stared back at her with an expression she couldn’t understand.

“C’mon,” he muttered to Crabbe and Goyle and the three of them ran into the castle.

“Hermione!” Ron said again and Hermione’s mind began to catch up with her.

She had just slapped Malfoy. She hadn’t planned it but she somehow felt like she had been waiting to do this ever since Malfoy had pulled the prank at the Quidditch match. She had been angry with him ever since then, but had suppressed it under her misery. Now, she no longer felt sad about the loss of their friendship—instead she felt furious at Malfoy for convincing her he could be trusted before proving that he was even worse than she had previously thought.

She felt satisfied as she realised Malfoy’s expression had looked pained as he had scampered away. All her anger had been pushed into that slap—she was glad Malfoy had felt it. But that wasn’t enough—he had humiliated her and made her look like a fool. He needed to know that too. She finally turned around to face Harry and Ron, who were still staring at her in shock.

“Harry, you’d better beat him in the Quidditch final! You just better had, because I can’t stand it if Slytherin wins!”

“We’re due in Charms, we’d better go,” Ron said, sounding slightly dazed.

Hermione followed behind them, still trying to process what she had just done. It wasn’t until they reached the Charms corridor that Hermione realised she had forgotten she was meant to have travelled back for her Ancient Runes class. She ducked into an alcove, unnoticed by Harry and Ron ahead of her and pulled out the time-turner. She wound it back and then ran out of the alcove towards her class. It was only one period compared to the double Care of Magical Creatures, so after the lesson finished, she went to the Gryffindor common room to finish her Arithmancy homework.

She could hardly concentrate as she worked—Arithmancy only reminded her of Malfoy and now that the shock of what she had done had worn off, she felt exhausted. She had hardly slept the night before, having spent a few hours talking with Harry and Ron before starting her homework. Her head slipped forwards, her mind continuing to whir. She struggled to hold her eyes open but could no longer stave off sleep and collapsed onto the table.

\---

Hermione was woken by Harry poking her in the side. She sat up, bewildered to see Harry and Ron looking at her with concern.

“Wh—what? Is it time to go? W—which lesson have we got now?” she stared around the room, trying to find some way to see the time.

“Divination, but it’s not for another twenty minutes. Hermione, why didn’t you come to charms?”

Hermione felt sick—she had slept through Charms and half of lunch.

“What? Oh no! I forgot to go to Charms?”

Ron and Harry stared at her, bemused but she ignored their questions. She couldn’t think of an answer now—she needed to find out what she missed, explain herself to Flitwick. How could she make a mistake like this so close to exams?

“I don’t believe it! Was Professor Flitwick angry? Oh, it was Malfoy, I was thinking about him and I lost track of things!”

She stood up and picked up her bag—she would need to leave now if she hoped to speak to Flitwick before Divination.

Ron reached down and picked up Hermione’s Arithmancy book, looking from it to her nervously.

“You know what, Hermione? I reckon you’re cracking up. You’re trying to do too much.”

“No, I’m not! I just made a mistake, that’s all! I’d better go and see Professor Flitwick and say sorry…I’ll see you in Divination!”

She ran out of the common room and sprinted towards the Charms classroom, hoping Professor Flitwick would still be there. She didn’t notice the footsteps behind her until she felt a tug on her arm and turned around to see a puffing Ron.

“Hermione! We got the work for you and told Flitwick you weren’t feeling well to cover for you. It’s okay—you don’t need to stress about it.”

“Of course I do Ron! Don’t you know what will happen if I miss a lesson?”

“Yeah I know, but you won’t get a detention, we told Flitwick you were sick and he was fine. Maybe you should take a sick day for the rest of the afternoon anyway, Hermione—you look like you could use the rest.”

“ _What?_ ”

“No! I just mean you’ve been working so much with all your classes and helping Hagrid. You need to rest.”

“I’m fine, Ron!”

“Hermione, you just slept through a lesson—that is not you! I don’t even know how you ended up in the common room—”

“Don’t worry about it—I’m fine really, but I need to go to Flitwick to find out what I missed.”

Hermione moved to run away again.

“NO—Hermione, we have your work and if you go to Flitwick now he’ll know you’re not sick and then you’ll get a detention. Just ask him tomorrow and look over what he gave Harry and I for you tonight, okay?”

Hermione paused, realising what Ron was saying.

“Okay—maybe you have a point. I just don’t know how I missed this.”

“Hermione, I’m serious—you’re doing too much. I have no idea how you’re keeping up with it all but the amount of work you’re doing isn’t good for you. Maybe you should just try to do a little less!”

“I can’t do that!” said Hermione, scandalised.

“Of course you can—I know you’re trying to be the best at all these classes but you’re not going to be able to do that if you’re so exhausted.”

“I’m fine—this was just a mistake.”

“If you say so—but at least think about doing less work. You don’t need to prove you’re the best at everything, we all know that by now.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile at this.

“C’mon, Divination is in ten minutes and it’ll probably take us that long to get there,”

Hermione nodded and followed Ron to Divination, mulling over his words. She knew he had a point—she had said she could keep up with this amount of work but it was clearly taking a toll. She had never felt this exhausted—never had she been unable to stop herself from falling asleep. Maybe she couldn’t manage the time turner and all of these lessons. But if that was true she would have to tell McGonagall that she had been wrong, that she wasn’t as smart and reliable as McGonagall had believed. She couldn’t do that—she couldn’t disappoint McGonagall. But if she kept this up, would she end up failing and disappointing her anyway?

Hermione’s mind continued to run in circles as she climbed up the ladder to the Divination classroom. She felt the familiar wave of nausea as she entered and was greeted with the smell of incense and uncomfortably warm air. She took a seat with Harry and Ron and noted the crystal balls on the tables—the sight of them infuriated her. Telawney said they wouldn’t start until the next term—Hermione hadn’t even gotten to do any prior reading on them. Ron and Harry were muttering about it angrily. Hermione was so irritated that she wished they would speak louder and let Trelwaney hear how incompetent she was.

Trelawney swept into the room and announced in her usual irritatingly airy voice that they were starting crystal balls early—as though that wasn’t obvious by their presence on the table. She snorted loudly as Trelawney exclaimed that she had been informed by the fates that they would be examined on ‘the Orb’. Ron and Harry glanced toward her, surprised. She didn’t bother to keep her voice low as she explained herself. She was tired of trying in a class that was run by someone who clearly was ill-prepared to teach the subject.

“Well, honestly…‘the fates have informed her’. Who sets the exam? She does! What an amazing prediction!” she said derisively.

Professor Trelwaney continued, not giving any indication that she heard Hermione and instructed the class to gaze into the crystal balls. Harry and Ron looked as unimpressed Hermione felt.

“This is such a waste of time. I could be practicing something useful. I could be catching up on Cheering Charms —”

She was interrupted by Trelawney offering to help the class interpret what they were meant to be seeing.

“I don’t need help. It’s obvious what this means. There’s going to be loads of fog tonight.” Ron said under his breath, making Harry and Hermione laugh loudly and attract Trelwaney’s attention.

She swept over to them and Hermione couldn’t help but roll her eyes as Trelawney started with the same speech she gave every time she attempted to ‘help’ Harry.

“My dear. It is here, plainer than ever before…my dear, stalking toward you, growing ever closer…the Gr—”

Hermione couldn’t hold herself back anymore—Harry had enough on his mind without being targeted every lesson.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake! Not that ridiculous Grim again!”

Trelawney looked up at her and Hermione stared back determinedly—she had lost any respect that the teacher’s title may have demanded. She had spent the year trying in a subject where she was receiving no education and was exhausted. She couldn’t think of a reason to care enough to stop herself from expressing the anger that had been boiling close to the surface all day.

“I am sorry to say that from the moment you have arrived in this class my dear, it has been apparent that you do not have what the noble art of Divination requires. Indeed, I don’t remember ever meeting a student whose mind was so hopelessly mundane.” Trelwaney said, her voice losing its usual airiness.

Hermione felt a surge of anger pulse through her—Trelawney was blaming her? This supposed teacher was blaming her, the student, for the fact that her incompetence meant that no one had learnt anything of value all year? Hermione stood up furiously—there was no point in her remaining here if her teacher insisted that she would never be able to have any talent in the subject.

“Fine! Fine! I give up! I’m leaving!”

She walked across the room, kicked open the trapdoor and climbed down the ladder. She had stormed halfway across the castle, before she realised exactly what she had just done. She felt sick for a moment, then relieved—she was never going back to this class. Hermione turned on her heel and walked to Professor McGonagall’s office. She reached it quickly and knocked on the door sharply. McGonagall looked up in surprise when she walked in.

“Miss Granger—aren’t you supposed to be in classes? Or have you travelled back again to study during this time? I must warn you, it is dangerous to have three of yourself walking around at the one time—”

“No, I’m meant to be in Divination but I just left,” Hermione said abruptly.

“Midway through the lesson?”

“Professor Trelawney said that I am unqualified to practise Divination so I would like to discontinue this course.”

Professor McGonagall stared at her for a moment, taken aback.

“Very well—I will put through the paperwork.”

Hermione stared in surprise—she hadn’t expected McGonagall to agree so easily. McGonagall gave a slight smile at the look on Hermione’s face.

“I have told you my opinions on the subject, Miss Granger—I think you will excel if you put your effort into other classes.”

“Oh—thank you,” Hermione said, unsure how to respond.

“You may go now—use this time to study for your other subjects. I can assure you that you are more than qualified to achieve high marks in all your classes.”

“Thank you,” Hermione repeated and turned toward the door.

“Oh, and Miss Granger?” McGonagall added, “I too was told that I was ill-qualified to complete Divination—I think you’ll find that I managed to do well without it.”

Hermione smiled and walked out the door. She was exhausted but her anger was spent—she had taken control and wasn’t letting herself be pushed around by anyone. She walked back to the Gryffindor common room slowly, laughing to herself as she thought of what Harry and Ron would say when they joined her after class.


	12. A Secret Adventure

Draco stormed into the Slytherin common room, not caring about the attention he attracted as he stomped toward his dorm. He had left Greg and Vincent at the Great Hall—he was grateful they hadn’t questioned why he was skipping dinner. Draco felt confident they wouldn’t spread the story among the Slytherins at dinner—they had finally stopped their exile of him and he knew that everything would be returning to normal with the Slytherins. Besides, a Slytherin getting slapped by a Muggle-born Gryffindor did not reflect well on the house—he could rely on them to at least protect the reputation of Slytherin.

He was grateful they had let him fume on his own. They understood that he was angry and probably expected that he was plotting his revenge. They were correct in some aspects—Draco was certainly angry—but the reason he wanted to be alone was because he had been humiliated and hurt by someone he thought he could be friends with. Until he had seen Hermione pulling back her hand to slap him and seen fury in her eyes, Draco had believed that there was hope of reconciliation. It might have taken a while, but he had thought that Hermione would have gotten over her anger eventually. He thought she would have gotten to a point where she would hear him out and he could explain himself and they could both agree to just forget about it.

Draco slammed his dorm room door and trudged towards his bed, collapsing onto it. There was no hope of ever being her friend again—Draco didn’t even know if he wanted that anymore. She had gone too far—he knew she was angry but slapping him? That seemed like an overreaction. He had given her the space she had asked for and settled into the role of a perfect Slytherin as best as he could. She knew that he had to play a part, especially considering he had only just been accepted back into the core Slytherins. She knew that but she chose to take the opportunity to remind him just how much she hated him.

Draco stood up abruptly, too angry to lie still on the bed and stomped toward the bathroom, slamming the door behind him again. He turned on the tap and rested his hands on the sink. Draco looked into the mirror for a moment and saw the anger he felt reflected on his face. He shook his head and splashed some water on his face. How had he let Hermione Granger affect him this much? Why did it matter what she thought of him? He wiped his face and walked back out of the bathroom, collapsing onto the bed again.

“Well, that was quite a show.”

Draco’s head shot up. Blaise was smirking at him from where he sat on his bed across the room.

“I—uh—I didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly.”

“Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for—like I said, I found it quite enjoyable.”

“Oh—then, you’re welcome, I guess?” Draco said tiredly, collapsing back onto his bed. He did not want to have to explain himself right now—he was struggling to understand it on his own.

Blaise hummed contentedly and Draco didn’t look up as he heard him pick up his book again. Draco rubbed his hands over his face trying to clear his head—the water had not been successful in achieving that so far.

“May I ask one question, Draco?” Blaise asked and Draco was sure his eyes were on him.

“Ask away,” Draco said, indifference hanging off his words.

“Wonderful. Now if I am right in guessing something has angered you—which I am fairly certain I am—can I ask what exactly? By all accounts you should be delighted—your exile has ended and you have returned as the darling of Slytherin.”

Draco raised himself up slightly to look at Blaise quizzically. Was he only being nosy or was he suggesting that he knew something? That was ridiculous—Blaise hadn’t had a chance to speak to anyone who knew that Hermione had slapped him, so how could he know about it? Unless he already knew that Draco had been friends with her and was making a guess based on that. The thought caused a wave of terror to rush through him. Blaise quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Gryffindors,” Draco said, cautious of how much he wanted to let on.

“Ah, of course. They can get under one’s skin.”

“I’d say.”

“Or on one’s skin.”

“What the—”

“There is a hand print on your face, Draco—not quite subtle.”

“Oh,” was all Draco said, raising his own hand to his cheek.

“Which Gryffindor are we hating, then?” Blaise questioned, humour in his voice.

“I said I’d answer one question.”

“One word was hardly an answer—but I suppose I will allow it. I’ll most likely get the tale from another witness…”

Draco groaned—Blaise was infuriating. He just wanted to lie down and feel sorry for himself, but Blaise would not let this go.

“Fine. H—Granger.”

“Granger slapped you?” Blaise sounded impressed.

“No need to say it like that.”

“What did you do to invoke her wrath?”

Draco chose to say the obvious answer.

“I only said that Hagrid was unprofessional—going around school crying when he’s supposed to be our teacher.”

“I’m sure that’s exactly how you phrased it, too.”

“Yep,” Draco said, unwilling to elaborate.

Blaise raised an eyebrow at him again, but did not reply. He picked up his book and made a motion with his hand to wave Draco away.

“Go back to your self-pity now, darling. I am done questioning you.”

Draco collapsed back onto his bed, feeling even more irritated than before.

\---

The next day, however, it was revealed that Blaise was not done with him. Draco was in the Great Hall eating his breakfast and doing what he believed was a very good job of avoiding looking at the Gryffindor table. He had decided his best strategy was to ignore Hermione—that was after all, what she had wanted. Whilst that was easy enough to achieve outwardly, he still continued the inward battle between anger at Hermione for choosing Harry and Ron over him and the inability to stop missing her friendship. His mind was following this usual pattern when he was disturbed by Blaise sitting beside him.

“Good morning, Draco,” Blaise said cheerfully when Draco looked up.

“Morning,” said Draco, sounding slightly perplexed. Blaise ignored Draco’s tone.

“What’s the agenda for today?”

Draco stared for a moment.

“School?”

“Well of course, but Draco Malfoy must have more on than school.”

“Exams are soon, so not really.”

“Well we’d better fix that.”

“What do you mean?” Draco said, bemused.

“You’ll see,” Blaise said, mysteriously.

He stood up, picking up a piece of toast from Draco’s plate and bit into it as he strolled out of the Great Hall.

Draco stared after him, confused. He picked up another piece of toast and caught sight of the Gryffindor table again as he did so. He paused, mid bite and realised that Blaise had somehow succeeded in entirely distracting him from his thoughts of Hermione. He thought this over, unable to decide whether it was too naïve to be grateful.

\---

Draco found himself continually distracted by thoughts of what Blaise could be planning. He tried to think of what he knew of Blaise, but found he could not think of much. As the day progressed, Draco began to feel more nervous about what he may have been roped into—Blaise could be a sadistic mastermind and only using Draco as a scapegoat to blame his crimes on. He did suppose that Blaise could perhaps be just as lonely as him and truly did only want a friend. He had never seen Blaise with a group of friends—he was sure he had seen him talking with other people, but couldn’t place any definite friend to him.

Despite his worries, Draco found himself waiting for Blaise in their dormitory after class. He remained uncertain, but had decided that even if this ended with them both in detention, he would at least have a bigger problem than disagreeable Gryffindors. Draco sat on his bed studying for most of the afternoon, ignoring Greg and Vincent. He felt more irritated as the afternoon wore on—it seemed Blaise had forgotten he had made plans with Draco.

Draco managed to distract himself with his homework—he had found this to be very effective recently. Exams were only a few weeks away and his teachers had begun giving them extra study work. While most of his classmates complained, Draco appreciated having something to focus his thoughts on. He hardly noticed as the sky grew darker outside and waved off Vincent’s questions about dinner. Eventually, his friends grew bored of him and went down to the Great Hall without him. Draco finished off his essay as they left and was pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment to start his next one when the door opened again.

“What’d you forget?” he said, without looking up.

“Nothing—I was simply waiting for those two to leave. I thought they would stay here _forever_.”

Draco looked up, alarmed—Blaise was grinning at him from the doorway.

“I thought you were—never mind.”

“I’ll try not to be insulted.”

“Don’t be.”

Blaise stared at him for a moment, before crossing the room to pull the parchment out of Draco’s hands and dropping it onto the bed.

“This is not adventure, darling,”

“I didn’t think it was.”

“Well, I hoped you wouldn’t be that dull.”

“Is that what you have planned for us? An adventure?”

“All in good time. First dinner—then we adventure.”

Blaise turned on his heel and walked out of the dorm. He paused at the door and looked back at Draco.

“You are coming, right?”

Draco nodded and followed behind him. They walked in silence towards the Great Hall and Draco was unsure if Blaise was waiting for him to say something. Whenever he glanced at him, however, Blaise seemed to be perfectly content. Draco found he quite enjoyed walking silently with another person and settled into it easily. In the Great Hall, they took a seat at the end of the Slytherin table. Draco looked at Blaise curiously as they served their dinners from the heaped platters.

“Is there something bothering you?” Blaise said, looking up and meeting his gaze.

“Nothing. Just trying to understand what you are planning.”

“I told you—an adventure!” Blaise said gleefully.

“That’s not exactly an answer.”

“Well, it wouldn’t really be an adventure if you had an itinerary, would it?”

“I suppose, but if I did have an itinerary I could at least tell Greg where to look to find my body.”

“That’s a tad gruesome.”

“Inviting a person on an adventure and refusing to reveal details tends to lead to gruesome murders.”

“I promise you that I have no intention of murdering you tonight. Besides, would you really trust Goyle to avenge your death?”

“You’re right, I should tell Pansy.”

“Please don’t,” Blaise shuddered, “She’s terrifying.”

Draco laughed and shook his head.

“I never would have guessed that Blaise Zabini is scared of little Pansy Parkinson.”

“You’re foolish not be scared of her—she seems to have set her sights on you.”

“Yes, but I don’t think she’s planning murder. It’s why I’m sure she would avenge my death.”

“Ah, but of course—she would be very upset if anyone hurt her dear Draco.”

“Exactly—so you may as well tell me what you’re planning tonight.”

“You’ll see. Have patience.”

Draco sighed, deciding to give up trying to work an answer out of Blaise and turned back to his dinner. He ate more quickly than usual, wanting to finish so that Blaise could finally tell him what he was planning. Blaise, however, did not seem to share this urgency and he took his time enjoying dinner. After what seemed like an age, he finished eating and placed his knife and fork perfectly on his plate.

“Sorry, did I keep you waiting?” Blaise said innocently.

“Twat,” Draco said, trying not to smile.

“If that’s what you really think then perhaps I should adventure on alone?”

“Shut up, of course I’m coming.”

“Delightful. We begin,” Blaise said, standing up abruptly.

Draco got to his feet more slowly than Blaise and followed him out of the Great Hall. Blaise turned toward the staircases and walked up them.

“Is this the adventure? Because I can climb these staircases any day.”

“It’s all adventure from here,” Blaise said, pausing between two staircases and looking between them thoughtfully. “This one,” he added, pointing to the right.

Blaise paused at the next staircase and held up his hand for Draco to wait.

“Hold on a moment,” he said, watching it carefully.

They waited and the staircase began to rumble and shift away from them.

“Wait…and JUMP,” Blaise said, just as the staircase disconnected from the landing.

He grabbed Draco’s arm and leapt over the gap to the stairs. Blaise pulled him forward and he jumped before he could think about it. He landed beside Blaise and stared at him, incredulous.

“What was that for?”

“Adventure! It’s _exhilarating_!”

Despite himself, Draco laughed and followed Blaise up the stairs to the next landing.

“Left or right, Draco?” Blaise once they were standing on solid ground again.

Draco looked between the stairs, still trying to understand what exactly Blaise was planning.

“Uh—left?”

“Perfect!” Blaise said and he ran up them without hesitation.

Draco stared after him, then followed.

“This way,” Blaise said, holding open a door.

Draco stepped through, trying to think what floor they were on. Blaise had taken such an odd route that Draco felt like a first year, confused in the large castle. Once in the hallway, the lamps lit up and Draco recognised the Charms corridor. Blaise followed him into the hall, letting the door fall shut behind him.

“Yes, I think you’ve chosen the right spot, Draco. You have a knack for this.”

“A knack for what?”

“Adventure!” Blaise called as he ran down the corridor.

Draco watched him running, deciding to walk behind him rather than join in. Just before Blaise reached the corner, Draco saw him halt suddenly and stand very still. Draco sped up slightly, wondering what he had seen. As he neared Blaise, he recognised the lamp-like eyes of Mrs Norris glinting from behind the dark corner. Draco grabbed Blaise’s arm.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said, glancing cautiously towards the caretaker’s cat.

“But you haven’t finished your adventure,” Blaise said softly, taking a step towards Mrs Norris.

Draco groaned, certain that he was about to watch his new friend get mauled by a cat. Blaise held out his hand and Draco opened his mouth to warn him away again, but was stopped by Mrs Norris stepping forward and pressing her head into Blaise’s outstretched hand.

“What…” Draco said, staring between Blaise and the cat in confusion.

“Draco, this is my friend Mrs Norris.” Blaise said in a soft, cooing voice. Mrs Norris started purring.

“How in Merlin’s name did you manage to befriend Mrs Norris?” Draco said, incredulously.

“We share secrets, don’t we, darling?” Blaise said, still using the same, sweet voice.

“Secrets?”

“Yes, I tell what I hear and she shows me what she sees. It’s a fair trade, isn’t it darling?”

“What kind of secrets?”

“Well I can’t just tell you hers—we keep these things between us. But you did help me find my darling friend so I suppose I can tell you one of mine. If you want to learn her secrets you’ll have to befriend her too.”

Draco stared at Blaise.

“Well, go on,” Blaise said, moving aside so Draco could sit beside him.

Draco sat down cautiously and slowly extended his hand towards Mrs Norris. Blaise was patting her gently now and she did no more than give Draco a cursory sniff.

“You have to present an offering.”

“An offering?”

“A secret.”

Draco sat for a moment, thinking through all the secrets he had accumulated throughout the year. He couldn’t share any of those.

“I saw Harry Potter’s head in Hogsmeade,” Draco said softly.

The reaction was instant. Mrs Norris turned towards him and nuzzled into his hand. Draco stared, shocked—did she really understand him? Blaise beamed at him.

“How delightful.”

Draco gently tickled her ears, thinking how odd it was for that he was patting a docile Mrs Norris.

“She likes you,” Blaise said.

“She’s not all bad,” Draco replied and Mrs Norris purred loudly.

“I’m not letting you off the hook by the way—you are going to tell me the story behind seeing Potter’s head in Hogsmeade.”

“You promised me your secret first.”

“Ah—so you do know how this works,” Blaise said, delightedly, “Okay, I’ll tell you one of my secrets. I overheard a conversation concerning you just the other day.”

Draco furrowed his eyebrows and looked up at Blaise.

“The delightful Marcus Flint was talking with Crabbe and Goyle—apparently he needed to convince your buffoonish friends that you were to blame for the whole dementor fiasco. They seemed to have thought he was the mastermind and couldn’t understand why they were shunning you.”

Draco stared at him in shock.

“Are you serious?”

“I never make up secrets.”

“So, they didn’t want to go along with Flint?”

“They questioned him at least—which I suppose is impressive for those two.”

“Maybe they’re better friends than I thought.”

“They did still go along with him in the end—don’t forget the full story, Draco.”

“Yeah, I know. Still, it means something that they still questioned it. I can’t be too mad that they followed the process they have always known.”

“I suppose,” Blaise said, reaching out to pat Mrs Norris, “So, will you tell me about Potter now?”

“There isn’t much to it—there was mud thrown at Vincent, Greg and I when we were near the Shrieking Shack talking to Weasley. I saw Potter’s head out of nowhere for a second and then it disappeared again. We ran off and I went back to the school to tell Snape. Apparently he questioned Potter and he said he was at the school the whole time but I know I saw his head—I’d assume the rest of him was there too somehow.”

“Fascinating—Potter doesn’t have permission to go, does he?”

“Not that I know of.”

“What a curious secret—no wonder Mrs Norris is so fond of you,” Blaise said, nodding at where Mrs Norris had settled herself on Draco’s lap.

Draco smiled down at the cat, then looked back to Blaise.

“You said Mrs Norris shares secrets, too?”

“Oh yes—she is my greatest source of information about this school. Sometimes she’ll show me something that will reveal something about other students, sometimes, if I’m lucky, she’ll show me some secret part of the school. I just follow her and hope she leads me to something delightfully juicy.”

Mrs Norris looked up at Blaise as he spoke and leapt off Draco’s lap. She stretched out before running ahead of them down the corridor. Blaise stood up quickly and ran after her, pulling Draco with him.

“Secret time!” he called, as they ran behind the cat.

Mrs Norris stopped suddenly next to a gargoyle nestled in an alcove and disappeared behind it. Draco and Blaise exchanged confused looks and stepped around to see where she had gone. Carefully concealed behind the gargoyle was a small passage—it would have easily fit Mrs Norris, but any person would have to duck down to get inside. Draco never would have guessed it was there if he hadn’t followed the cat to it. He supposed it was how she travelled so quickly to catch wrongdoers, although it didn’t seem very useful to him. Blaise, however, was still staring at it happily.

“This is wonderful! I wonder where it goes?”

“Well neither of us are cats so we won’t be able to find out.”

“No—she wouldn’t have shown us if we can’t use it.”

“She’s a cat.”

“A very smart cat who can clearly understand us, Draco.”

“You’re mad.”

“Not even slightly,” Blaise answered, bending down to look into the passage, “I think it widens on the inside—it’s probably just small to ensure it’s concealed.

“I am not going in there.”

“Adventure!” Blaise said and he dropped down and slid into the passage.

“What are you doing?”

“I was right—it is larger here! Come on, Draco!”

“I’m not getting in there.”

“Of course you are—we’re having an adventure.”

Draco sighed and knelt down, not quite believing that he was crawling into a hole he saw a cat run down. Once inside, he saw Blaise was right—it was quite roomy.

“Shall we see where it goes?” Blaise asked in a whisper.

“Okay,” Draco said, cautiously.

“Excellent!”

They walked down the passage together and after a while, Draco realised the floor was sloping.

“I think we’re going downhill.”

“I think you’re right.”

Blaise didn’t say anything else, so Draco stayed silent as they followed the dark passage. Very suddenly, they reached the end and Draco saw a wooden door in front of them.

“Where do you think it will come out?”

“No idea.”

Blaise reached forward and pushed open the door. They stepped out and the door swung shut behind them. Draco turned around at the noise and stared in shock. He pulled Blaise’s arm and pointed to where they had just come out. Instead of a door, there was a stone wall.

“Where did it go?”

“It must be one way—which makes sense, come to think of it.” Blaise turned back around. “Look where we are, Draco!”

Draco turned around and saw the vast expanses of the Hogwarts grounds. They had somehow come out somewhere near the Great Lake. The sky above them was dark and Draco realised he had completely lost track of time—what if they were trapped outside past curfew?

“Blaise, are we locked out?”

“It’s not curfew yet, we’re fine,” Blaise said, glancing down at his watch, “although it might be good to get inside soon—it is pretty close.”

They began the walk back to the castle together and Draco couldn’t help but admire the grounds as they did. He didn’t often come out to the castle grounds at night—they looked almost entirely different under the night sky.

“It’s so lovely out here at night,” Blaise said, happily.

“Do you come out here often at night?”

“Oh yes—I love to read out in the courtyard, under the stars. It’s wonderful.”

“It is.”

They reached the castle doors and Draco was grateful to see they had not yet been locked for the night—though he was sure they would be soon, with all of the increased security around the school.

“Thank you for the adventure, Blaise,” Draco said as they stepped inside.

“Thank you for making it one—you can never truly adventure alone, I find.”

Draco nodded, unsure what to say.

“That passage was fascinating—Mrs Norris must have really liked you to show it to you.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be—it’s a fantastic way to sneak out of the castle. If we were under attack, for instance—we can escape easily but only because we know the way. No one could follow us. And then no one can get in from the outside, so it remains perfectly secure! Genius, really.”

“Yeah, it is,” Draco found himself agreeing—he hadn’t put nearly as much thought into as Blaise had.

They walked back to the Slytherin dorms together, taking their time and walking slowly.

“Can I ask you something, Blaise?” Draco asked suddenly.

“Of course.”

“Why did you want to take me on this adventure? You’ve spoken to me more in the past week than you have in the entire time we’ve been at school together.”

“That’s a fair question. I suppose I always thought you were rather normal—easy to understand, like so many of our classmates.”

Draco stared at him, offended.

“I obviously don’t think that anymore. It’s just that I can usually see through people. I don’t bother to get to know people because most people are what you see and nothing more—there’s no point in getting to know them when I can learn it all so easily without ever speaking to them. But you are interesting, Draco Malfoy. It took me almost three years to realise it, but it is true. I enjoy spending time with interesting people.”

Draco didn’t respond—Blaise’s response was far from what he expected.

“Thanks, I guess?”

Blaise nodded and they continued their walk to the Slytherin common room in silence.

\---

Draco had no time for adventures as the final Quidditch match of the year drew near. Flint had them practising for long hours almost every day and was constantly drilling into them that they could never be more than fifty points down—if Gryffindor caught the snitch when they were fifty points up then they’d win the match. The Slytherins were determined to win, however. They were feeling positive in the lead up to the match—the points were already on their side. There were plenty of arguments breaking out between the houses and Draco had become the target of much of the Gryffindor fury. He did not worry about this much—Flint may not have liked him, but he cared about protecting his seeker.

The day of the match was clear and still—they could not have asked for better conditions. Flint insisted the team eat together and then walk to the pitch as a group. Draco was sure it was a tactic to intimidate the Gryffindors and make them seem unbreakable. He felt grateful for the company and chose not to question it. He struggled to eat his breakfast, feeling slightly queasy. This was his chance to redeem himself after the failed dementor prank. He would be the hero of Slytherin if they won—if not, Draco did not doubt that he would once again be shunned. It was the price of being a seeker and of being a Malfoy. He couldn’t help thinking that winning the match would also be his chance to truly get revenge on Potter—for being the reason he had lost his friend and for not realising how lucky he was to have Hermione.

Draco tried not to think of Hermione as the match started and his thoughts began to separate. He could hardly focus on what Flint was saying in the pre-match pep talk and ignored the screams of the crowd and Lee Jordan’s booming commentary as they stepped onto the pitch. He climbed onto his broom and heard Madam Hooch’s whistle. Draco’s mind cleared as the game began—this he could focus on. Everything else fell easily from his mind in a way that it could never do when he was grounded. Draco soared into the sky, reaching the perfect position to begin scoping out the snitch. If he could just find it quickly, he could ensure Slytherin won the cup.

Draco ignored much of the game—he found it easiest to fly on his own, searching for the snitch. He noticed some scuffle below and both teams were awarded penalties. He groaned as Gryffindor scored and the Slytherin goal was blocked. They were twenty points up—as long as they stayed below fifty, he was okay. If they were above fifty points up, the pressure would be on him to save the match.

Another penalty was awarded below and Draco silently cursed his teammates. Madam Hooch was incredibly strict on fouls—it wasn’t worth risking a penalty. Draco moved his eyes from the game below and continued scanning the pitch for a sight of the snitch. He swung his broom around, ignoring Potter travelling a similar path near him. He just needed to focus. He heard a loud cheer—Gryffindor was up seventy-ten. They were more than fifty points ahead. Draco looked around alarmed—he needed to catch the snitch. He scanned around the cheering faces and felt his stomach drop.

Hermione was standing in the Gryffindor crowd, wearing layers of red and gold and cheering loudly and enthusiastically. Weasley was beside her and Draco felt a wave of fury—she was still friends with them. She was cheering for Potter—she wanted Potter to win and she wanted him to lose. She had chosen Potter—for some reason she could forgive Potter and not him. The way she was cheering for him now made Draco feel certain of that. She could never have been his friend, she couldn’t have openly cheered for him in a Quidditch match. It was the easy option to not forgive him—then she wouldn’t have to put in the effort.

Draco thought for a moment she looked at him as she shouted for Harry, but her eyes darted away so quickly that he couldn’t know what he had seen. Had she seen him look at her? Did she realise he finally understood why she had made the choice she had? Did she know that Draco understood, but couldn’t help missing her, just a little?

The crowd surged and Draco realised he had lost track of the match. He whipped around and saw Potter diving and a glint of gold—Potter was after the snitch and Draco was behind. He couldn’t be blamed for losing the match. Potter had already won everything, he couldn’t win this too. Without thinking, Draco reached out and desperately grabbed onto the end of Potter’s broom. It slowed and the snitch darted away. Draco felt sick as he realised what he had done—had he not just been mentally chastising his teammates for their dirty tactics? Yet here he was, doing the same. He let go and flew off, cursing himself.

All he wanted was for Hermione to want to be his friend again—even during quidditch he couldn’t force it out of his mind. She was probably the kindest friend he’d ever had and he’d thrown it away trying to impress people who didn’t care about him and friends who didn’t care enough to defend him. He had been so stupid and now he had done another thing that would make her hate him. He looked around the pitch, avoiding looking towards the crowd, not wanting to see Hermione or the look of hatred that would probably be on her face.

Potter shot up beside him—he flew so close that their knees bumped. Draco was sure he was furious and couldn’t blame him. Potter had gotten to the snitch first—whether or not Draco won, he had already disappointed himself. He had always believed he could beat Potter—if he did now, he’d still think it was only because he played dirty.

Potter banged into Draco again and Draco pulled away from him, annoyed. Didn’t Potter have enough? Couldn’t he just leave Draco alone?

“Get out of it, Potter!” Draco snarled, frustrated as Potter blocked him again.

Draco spun away from Potter and thankfully Potter was distracted by something in the match and didn’t follow Draco again. Just as he began to lap the pitch, he spotted it—the snitch, glinting low in the middle of the field. Draco dived after it. He didn’t know where Potter was but he knew he had seen it first. He grew closer and closer, he could see it more clearly now. He could hear someone else flying but they were behind him—even if Potter was there, Draco was in front. Draco was only a few metres away. He reached his hand out—and was knocked aside as Potter reached from behind and closed his hand around the snitch.

Draco froze mid-air. The crowd erupted. Potter was next to him, holding up the snitch in his hand—the snitch Draco should have caught. The Gryffindors were zooming towards them to celebrate. Draco turned himself away slowly and flew straight to the locker room. He knew what this meant—Flint would be furious that he had lost the match, especially considering how close it was. Draco should have gotten it first—he saw it first, he reached it first but Potter caught it. Flint was going to be furious.

Draco stepped into the locker room showers as he heard the sound of the team entering—he didn’t want to speak to them yet. He wanted to buy himself a few minutes. He tried to block out the sound of their voices as he showered, but that allowed his mind to circle back to the look on Hermione’s face as she had cheered for Potter and that only made him feel worse. He stepped out of the shower, deciding it was best to just get it over with. He dressed and walked out.

His teammates fell silent when they saw him and Flint stepped forward, fury etched into his face. Draco didn’t even listen to him yell. He couldn’t bother himself to fight back—he knew how it would go. They would tell him he failed, he would be shunned again, maybe for a week, and then they would accept him again. He was tired by all of it—he had spent his whole life craving to be a part of this, craving the approval of these people who operated so coldly. There was no friendship there—you couldn’t have friendship with these games and these conditions. He was sick of seeking their approval, only to have it taken away at the slightest failure and given back conditionally. Draco yearned for a genuine friendship—the friendship he had believed he briefly had with Hermione.

She had cared about him, that was why she had been hurt when he did something that seemed careless to her. He had believed it would make her happy because he hadn’t truly realised what a friendship with Hermione was like. It wasn’t like this Slytherin one, based on guidelines and conditions. He didn’t need to try all the time, she just continued to accept him, even if she found it hard. Of course she had forgiven Potter and Weasley—that was who she was. She had been hurt by them, but she believed in the good in them, just as she believed in the good in Draco. She didn’t wait for the boys to end their shunning period like Draco did, or start one of her own. They had a falling out and they made up—Draco had never known a friendship like that before.

He felt silence fall in the change room again and knew Flint had dismissed him. Draco picked up his bag and walked out of the locker rooms. He didn’t know where he was going—he knew he didn’t want to go back to Slytherin. There he would only be greeted by angry snarls and insults. As he walked up to the castle, he ran his hand along the bricks where he and Blaise had followed the passage to the grounds. He felt a small shift as he remembered Blaise—his new friend. Blaise was different to any of his other Slytherin friends. Perhaps that was another friendship he could really trust in.

The passage had given Draco an idea and he realised where he wanted to go. He walked slowly through the corridors, past the classroom where he usually had Arithmancy. He stopped at the familiar tapestry and pulled it aside. He walked a little inside then dropped his bag and sat down. He pulled out his wand and cast a charm to make some light. He didn’t know if he wanted Hermione to find him here—he just knew that this was a place he felt comfortable and that was what he needed right now.

He lost track of time as he sat in the corridor, trying to muddle through his thoughts. After today, he could no longer deny that he missed Hermione’s friendship. He should have valued it more when he had it, realised how different it was from everything he had known. Maybe then he wouldn’t have lost her. He knew how to apologise now, because he knew exactly what he had done wrong. Hermione didn’t operate like the Slytherins he knew and that was why he had been drawn to her—he just hadn’t known that until now. Draco needed to speak to her and needed to put aside his pride and defensiveness—maybe then she could forgive him again.

Draco sighed and leant against the wall. He didn’t know why he couldn’t get Hermione out of his head, but he knew he had to try to apologise again. He wondered if she could bring herself to accept another apology from him, but he had to hope that she would—she had an enormous capacity for forgiveness, after all. She had forgiven him once before, when she believed he was genuine. He thought she might forgive him, if she believed in him again.


	13. In Good Time

“Hermione? Er—are you sure you’ve copied down these times right?”

Hermione looked up from where she sat at her usual table in the common room. Ron and Harry were watching her cautiously. Ron was looking from Hermione to her timetable with concern. Hermione snatched it out of his hand and brushed off their questions. She began searching for a textbook that had been buried under her mounds of parchment, cursing herself silently for leaving her timetable in the open. Her exams were slightly complicated—while most students had two exams per day, Hermione had four on Monday. Each time she thought about doing four exams in one day she felt a pressure building in her head.

Thankfully, the boys were prevented from asking any further questions by the arrival of Hedwig at the window. Hermione watched Harry’s face fall as he read.

“It’s from Hagrid. Buckbeak’s appeal—it’s set for the sixth.”

The date immediately struck a note in Hermione’s head.

“That’s the day we finish exams.”

“They’re coming here to do it. someone from the Ministry of Magic and—and an executioner.”

Hermione paused in her search for her textbook and looked up at Harry, startled. Her own shock was reflected on his face.

“They’re bringing an executioner to the appeal! But that sounds as though they’ve already decided!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Yeah, it does,” Harry said, sounding defeated.

“They can’t! I’ve spent ages reading up stuff for him, they can’t ignore it all!” Ron said furiously.

Neither Hermione or Harry responded, not wanting to say what they were thinking. It didn’t seem as though the Ministry would pay any attention to Ron’s research, no matter how compelling it was. They sat in silence and, after a moment, Harry said he was going to bed. Hermione doubted he was actually going to sleep, but waved goodnight anyway—she knew Harry wanted to be alone and would probably spend the night trying to think of a way to help Hagrid.

Hermione turned back to her books—the news of Buckbeak’s appeal had increased her exhaustion tenfold. She turned a page, wanting nothing more than to shut the book and go to bed—a feeling she did not think she had ever experienced. Her studying usually energized and excited her—she loved reading about magic and the wizarding world—but she had never tried to do this much before. Her exhaustion made it far more difficult to enjoy the work she typically loved.

Ron shifted behind her and she felt him peer over her shoulder to look at her exam timetable again. Hermione carefully shifted her parchment to cover it.

“Hermione?” he asked carefully.

She sighed, awaiting the request to help with his study—she used to not mind helping, but now she hardly had time to do her own work, let alone help with someone else’s.

“Yes?” she replied, not looking up from her work.

“I’m not going to ask again how you’re getting to all your classes and exams,” Ron said hurriedly, “but I just have to ask—is it worth it, doing all these subjects? I get it, you’re Hermione, you need to do everything, but you do know you don’t have to prove anything, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t have to prove that you’re top of every class—we all know that. Everyone in the school probably knows that you’re the smartest person here. You don’t have to prove how smart you are.”

“I’m not doing these classes to prove how smart I am.”

“Then why are you doing them?”

“To learn.”

“And do you learn much in Muggle Studies? C’mon, you know there’s no need for you to do that class.”

“I learn about the wizarding perspective of Muggles! Besides, it’ll be useful if I ever want to go into Muggle relations!”

Hermione could hear her voice becoming shrill, but couldn’t stop herself—she couldn’t explain to Ron why it was so important that she succeed in all her classes. She couldn’t explain to him the pressure that was placed on her when McGonagall gave her the time turner.

“Do you want to go into Muggle relations?”

“I don’t know!”

“You’re a Muggle-born, Hermione! You don’t need to learn about Muggles!”

“Stop it, Ron! I don’t have time for this—I need to study.”

“Okay, okay. Just—take it easy. Have a break.”

Hermione ignored him and picked up a textbook.

“Or at least go easy on yourself. You could probably ace these exams in your sleep.”

Hermione paused, midway through finding her page.

“Thanks, Ron.”

He bumped her shoulder and pulled his own books toward him, settling beside her to study. They didn’t speak for the rest of the night, but Hermione found that her studying became easier once she had a friend sitting beside her. Ron stayed as the common room emptied and didn’t put down his work until Hermione finally shut her textbook, well past midnight. Ron didn’t say anything, but she suspected he had stayed in the common room for the same reason they had stayed with Harry over Christmas—so she wouldn’t be lonely.

\---

Exams came too soon and Hermione awoke the morning of her first exams feeling nauseated. She ate breakfast early, a book propped up in front of her and blocking out those around her. She flicked through the pages nervously, certain she had forgotten to revise something important—what if she got into the exam and realised she couldn’t answer the question? The thought of it made her push her cereal aside, no longer hungry.

Harry and Ron came down for breakfast just as she was rushing out of the Great Hall in the direction of the library. Hermione didn’t stop to explain herself. She thought it would probably be easiest if she spent the day avoiding them—then they wouldn’t notice her travelling back in time to get to all her exams.

The bell for first period rang and Hermione threw her notes into her bag and rushed out of the library. She couldn’t be late for her exam—what if they didn’t let her in and she failed? She had to do well in her exams—McGonagall had trusted her to excel in them, trusted her to be able to use the time turner and keep up with all her classes. McGonagall believed she would continue to achieve top grades with the use of the time turner—she couldn’t let her down. She couldn’t imagine how disappointed McGonagall would be if she proved unable to meet her expectations.

Hermione was one of the first students to arrive in the Transfiguration classroom and set out her wand and quill neatly on the desk. The other students slowly filed in, some chattering in hushed voices, though they fell silent when they caught Professor McGonagall’s watchful eye. Hermione tapped her foot nervously as she waited to start. She recalled McGonagall’s explanation of the exam—theory first, then the practical component. A few spells would be tested, which they would all be asked to cast on the spot and within the time limit.

McGonagall announced that the exam was starting and Hermione flicked over the parchment. She read the questions quickly, before dipping her quill in ink and starting to fill in her answer. She fell into a pattern after a few questions and found herself answering them easily. She crammed her answers in any extra space she could find when she ran out of lines, returning to add more once she had finished them all.

McGonagall interrupted to announce the practical component would be starting and summoned their answers. They were given a series of objects to transfigure and Hermine cast each spell carefully, though she was disappointed when her teapot ended up resembling a tortoise rather than a turtle.

Soon the exam was over and Hermione followed Harry and Ron to lunch—they had found her after the exam and prevented her from slipping away to travel back for Arithmancy. She ate with them, hoping she could find a way to leave them and go back for the exam. McGonagall had given her strict instructions about travelling back for exams—she was to go back as soon as she finished the first to prevent any questions about cheating being raised.

She joined in their discussion of the exams, though Ron and Harry did not think the difference between a turtle and a tortoise would be important. Realising they were irritated by her worrying, she pretended to be annoyed and left them under the pretence of studying. She felt confident that any quarrel would quickly be forgotten—they would all blame it on exam stress and push it aside. Hermione was grateful for the opportunity it gave her to go back for her Arithmancy exam.

Hermione sat in her usual seat next to Malfoy in the Arithmancy exam—she did her best to ignore him, sure he would try to get under her skin to throw her off. He continually cast glances at her, as though he was trying to communicate something to her, but Professor Vector was watching keenly and it did not seem that Malfoy wanted to risk being accused of cheating.

Hermione finished the Arithmancy exam and rushed into her others—each exam seemed to be coming quicker than the last. That afternoon she had Charms, then travelled back immediately for Ancient Runes. She spent the night staving off sleep with study, the thought of McGonagall’s disappointment keeping her awake. The next morning brought with it the Care of Magical Creatures exam, followed by Potions in the afternoon. Though she didn’t have to travel back for any exams that day, they did all have their Astronomy exam at midnight, after which Hermione spent an hour or two revising for History of Magic and Herbology. Both exams passed uneventfully and Hermione awoke the morning of the last exams feeling thoroughly exhausted, but with a slight feeling of hopefulness beneath her tiredness—two more exams and she would be done.

Their morning exam was Defence against the Dark Arts and rather than have it in a classroom, Professor Lupin had set up an obstacle course composed of a variety of the creatures they had studied over the year. Harry and Ron were eager to be out on the grounds instead of being cooped up in a classroom, but Hermione did not share their excitement. She much preferred to have a theory exam than a practical one in Defence. She knew it was her weakest subject—could this be the one she failed? A theory exam she could do, but this exam was ripe with opportunity for error. She waited nervously while Harry and Ron went before her. They hung around after they went through and while Hermione was sure they thought they were being supportive, she felt more nervous with them watching. She recited to herself all she knew about what possible creatures she would be facing as she waited her turn.

Professor Lupin called her forward and Hermione began the course, trying to calm her nerves and clear her mind. The first task was to swim through a deep pool holding a Grindylow—Hermione knew the counter-curse for this and cast aside the Grindylow with ease. She felt bostered by this success and entered the next obstacle feeling slightly more confident. The ground ahead was full of potholes and Hermione could instantly identify what that meant—Red Caps. She crossed through the obstacle easily and continued through the marsh on the other side, ignoring the misleading lights of the Hinkypunk. The final task was to climb into a trunk—Hermione hesitated at this, suspecting the worst but hoping desperately that she was wrong. She did not know if she could fight off a boggart—she knew the counter-curse, but she couldn’t think of a way to make being petrified humorous. How was she supposed to cast a spell if she was frozen?

Hermione climbed into the trunk slowly, dread filling her, the confidence that had grown as she passed through the obstacle fading quickly. The lid of the trunk shut loudly above her and for a moment Hermione was plunged into darkness. A light appeared without a source and Hermione saw from the shadows a figure stepping towards her. She raised her wand cautiously trying to make out what it was—as it grew closer, she thought it seemed human. Was this not a boggart? The person stepped into the light and Hermione gasped—it was Professor McGonagall.

“Sorry, Professor!” she said, lowering her wanded, “I thought this was another obstacle.”

“I have your results,’ McGonagall said, her tone serious.

Hermione stared at her, surprised—had she missed the part where Lupin said they would receive their exam results at the end? She supposed she had been distracted by nervous thoughts about the obstacle.

“My—my results? Already?” she managed to stammer.

“Yes, and I must say, I am quite disappointed.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“You failed every one of your exams, Miss Granger. I must admit I am shocked by these results—I truly expected more of you. I suppose it was a mistake to trust you with the time turner.”

Hermione opened her mouth but could not speak. She felt her throat closing and tears welling in her eyes.

“I thought you could manage this and you have failed me! You have failed Dumbledore, you have failed the school! I told the Ministry of Magic you could handle this, could be trusted with this and you have made us all look like fools! You should have told me if you couldn’t manage it—now look what you’ve done. You’ll have to repeat, you’ll have to drop all your classes. You clearly cannot cope with this responsibility.”

“No—no—I thought I could do it—I thought I did okay—” Hermione said frantically, wiping away the tears that were escaping from her eyes.

“You thought wrong. We were all wrong about you.”

“No, you weren’t wrong! I can make up for it, I’ll—”

“Get out! Get out of here! You are nothing but a disappointment.”

Hermione turned around and climbed up the ladder with shaking hands, tears now flowing steadily down her face. The trunk lid opened as she reached the top and the sunlight blinded her. She fell onto the grass and lay there, unable to pick herself up. She felt loud sobs racking through her body but could not stop herself.

“Hermione! What’s the matter?” Professor Lupin was standing over her, looking startled.

She tried to respond but choked on the words. She pushed herself up, wrapping her arms around her legs and tried to speak again.

“P-P-Professor McGonagall! She said I failed everything!”

“What?” Lupin said, sounding confused, looking between Hermione and the trunk.

“She said I failed! I tried—I tried so hard and it wasn’t good enough! She trusted me and I failed! I failed!” she wailed.

“Hermione, no! You didn’t fail—”

“McGonagall just told me I did!”

“No, she didn’t!”

“She was there and told me I failed!”

“No, she wasn’t there, it—”

“I just spoke to her!”

“No, Hermione, listen to me—that wasn’t Professor McGonagall. It was a boggart.”

Hermione lifted her head and looked at lupin, shocked.

“Boggart?”

“It was a part of the obstacle—it was only a boggart.”

“But it was McGonagall.”

“That must be your biggest fear.”

“My biggest fear isn’t McGonagall.”

“I don’t think it is—I think your fear was failure.”

Hermione stared at him, trying to understand what he meant. Was he saying she hadn’t failed?

“It wasn’t her?”

“No.”

“I didn’t fail all my exams?”

“Well, the results haven’t been released yet, but I would be very surprised if you did.”

Lupin glanced around and Hermione realised Harry and Ron were watching her cautiously from the side of the obstacle course.

“Look, Hermione,” Lupin lowered his voice, “I know the amount of work you’ve been doing and how you’ve been getting to all your classes. Professor McGonagall informed all of your professors at the start of the year. I can’t imagine the kind of pressure that this would put on you, but I am sure this hasn’t been an easy year. You won’t be failing anyone if you decide you don’t want another year of this.”

Hermione gave him a shaky smile.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“I doubt there’s a cleverer witch your age,” Lupin said, returning her smile and helping her to her feet.

Hermione wiped her eyes and walked to join Harry and Ron, who were still watching nervously from the side.

“You okay, Hermione?” Harry asked as she approached.

“I’m fine, it’s nothing,” Hermione said quickly, not wanting to explain what they had witnessed.

They walked back to the castle together, Hermione carefully avoiding Harry and Ron’s eyes. Ron looked like he wanted to say something, but was prevented from speaking by an interruption at the castle stairs. Cornelius Fudge was blocking the way, staring out at the grounds. He beamed when he saw Harry and immediately began a cheerful conversation about Harry’s exams and the weather. Hermione and Ron stood behind Harry awkwardly, unsure how they were supposed to react when they saw the Minister for Magic.

“I’m here on an unpleasant mission, Harry,” Fudge was saying, “The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures required a witness to the execution of a mad Hippogriff. As I needed to visit Hogwarts to check on the Black situation, I was asked to step in.”

“Does that mean the appeal’s already happened?” Ron interjected.

Hermione held back a groan—what was Ron doing, interrupting the Minister for Magic? He could get himself into serious trouble if he upset him.

“No, no it’s scheduled for this afternoon,” Fudge said, looking at Ron with curiosity. Hemione felt relieved—he did not seem angry.

“Then you might not have to witness an execution at all! The Hippogriff might get off!” Ron said harshly and Hermione felt a wave of nausea wash over her—why could Ron not just let it go?

They were thankfully interrupted by two wizards joining them and informing Fudge that it was time for the appeal. Hermione’s eyes fell on the second wizard’s axe and she stared in horror as she realised who he was. She looked across at Ron and saw him looking at the same wizard furiously. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Hermione elbowed him to cut him off and nodded her head toward the Entrance Hall, hoping Ron and Harry would follow her.

“Why’d you stop me? Did you see them? They’ve even got the axe ready! This isn’t justice!” Ron said furiously.

“Ron, your dad works for the Ministry, you can’t go saying things like that to his boss! As long as Hagrid keeps his head this time, and argues his case properly, they can’t possibly execute Buckbeak…”

She wasn’t sure if she believed what she was saying but was desperate to calm Ron down. He could get himself or his father in trouble if he got angry like that at the Minister for Magic. She felt just as upset at him at the thought that they had brought the executioner had brought the axe to the appeal—having him there was horrible enough for Hagrid. She hoped desperately that it wouldn’t fluster Hagrid, but part of her couldn’t help but think that Buckbeak might be executed no matter how well Hagrid spoke.

They ate lunch quietly, each lost in their own thoughts. Hermione tried to distract herself by reading through her notes for her Muggle Studies exam, but it was useless. Ron had been right—she really didn’t need to study for this exam. She had been very familiar with all the content in the course and she was sure she would have no trouble with the exam.

Hermione’s mind wandered back to the Defence exam and her boggart. Lupin had said he suspected her biggest fear was failure—had he meant failing McGonagall or failing her exams? Perhaps both. Hermione hadn’t known that had been her biggest fear—was it possible to not know what you are most afraid of? She had thought it had been the basilisk and petrification that was most terrifying to her, but that seemed to have changed. She had not realised until now how much the fear of failing McGonagall and her other professors had increased in the light of the responsibility of the time turner. Something about the whole thing seemed wrong to her, but she couldn’t bring herself to consider exactly what it was—she needed to focus on her last exam.

Hermione bade Harry and Ron goodbye outside the Great Hall—they had their Divination exam while she had her Muggle Studies one. Hermione felt relieved that she did not have to worry about sitting another exam. The Muggle Studies exam passed quickly and Hermione felt quietly confident when she handed in her paper. Ernie Macmillan was less subtle about his confidence in his exam as the class walked out of the room—he seemed to be telling everyone how easy he had found the exam. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to get annoyed at him—she was finished with her exams. She had actually done them all. She could rest now—at least a little, if she could will herself to not worry about her results.

Hermione walked back to the common room happily, where Ron was waiting for her. Harry hadn’t yet finished his exam and they waited for him together in the almost empty common room—it seemed most of the students were outside, celebrating the end of exams. They were interrupted from their discussion about what they would do now that they have free time by a tap at the window. A school owl was at the window, clutching a letter in its beak.

Hermione stood up to open the window and the owl flew in and dropped the letter, before turning and flying back out the window. Hermione picked it up and saw it was addressed to herself, Harry and Ron in Hagrid’s messy handwriting. She and Ron exchanged nervous looks and Hermione ripped open the letter. She felt a weight sink in her stomach as she read—Buckbeak had been sentenced to death and was being executed at sunset. She and Ron looked up at each other, horrified. Hermione didn’t know what to say—she had tried to prepare herself for this, but part of her had always hoped that it would work out.

The portrait hole opened and Harry stepped in. He began to say something about Professor Trelawney, but stopped when he saw the look on their faces. Ron held out the letter and told him Buckbeak lost.

“We have to go. He can’t just sit there on his own, waiting for the executioner!” Harry said as soon as he finished reading.

Hermione couldn’t help agreeing—she hated the thought of Hagrid sitting alone, waiting for Buckbeak’s execution. She tried to think of a way they could visit him without getting into trouble.

“Sunset, though. We’d never be allowed…’specially you, Harry,” Ron said, echoing Hermione’s thoughts.

“If only we had the invisibility cloak,” Harry groaned.

“Where is it?” Hermione asked, her plan solidifying in her head.

“I left it in the passage under the statue of the one-eyed witch after Snape almost caught me in Hogsmeade. If Snape sees me anywhere near there again, I’m in serious trouble.”

“That’s true—if he sees _you_ …how do you open the witch’s hump again?”

“You—you tap it and say “Dissendium”, but—”

Hermione had stood up and walked out of the common room before Harry could finish speaking—there was no time to argue about this. She hurried in the direction of the third floor, watching carefully for anyone who might catch her. She reached the statue and cast the spell to open the passage, casting another look around before she climbed down it. The invisibility cloak was exactly where Harry had said it would be and Hermione picked it up and folded it beneath her robes, checking to make sure it was concealed.

She quickly climbed out of the passage and made sure it was shut behind her. Taking a final look around to make sure no one had seen her, she ran back towards Gryffindor tower. Hermione ignored everyone around her as she pushed her way back to the tower—sunset was soon and if she didn’t get back quickly they might not make it on time. Her determined sprint was interrupted by someone calling her name.

“Hermione!”

She whipped around and narrowed her eyes when she saw Malfoy standing in the doorway of a nearby classroom. A quick glance down the corridor told her they were alone.

“Leave me alone, Malfoy.”

“Hermione, can I—”

“No—haven’t you done enough?”

“What?” he said, confused.

“Oh, sod off.”

“What’s wrong?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned away—she didn’t have to entertain Malfoy’s pretend ignorance. The image of Hagrid waiting alone in his hut flashed into her mind and She felt a wave of fury rush through her. She whirled around to look at Malfoy again.

“I shouldn’t be surprised but—I thought even you wouldn’t go this far. Whatever you wanted—you’ve got it now. Now leave. Me. Alone.”

“Hermione, what—”

But she had already turned and continued her run back to Gryffindor Tower, trying not to think about the expression on Malfoy’s face. She arrived back at the common room and pushed thoughts of Malfoy from her mind.

“Hermione, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately! First you hit Malfoy, then you walk out on Trelawney—” Ron exclaimed as she pulled out the invisibility cloak.

Hermione blushed and tried not to look pleased with herself. Harry suggested they go to dinner quickly so that they didn’t look suspicious. They ate hurriedly and snuck out of the castle when they finished. Harry threw the cloak over them and they hurried down to Hagrid’s hut.

Hagrid looked entirely lost when reached him. He let them into the cabin under the invisibility cloak, telling them they shouldn’t have come. He offered them tea but his hand shook so much that most of the tea landed on the table.

“Where’s Buckbeak, Hagrid?” Hermione asked carefully.

“I—I took him outside. He’s tethered in me pumpkin patch. Though’ he oughta see the trees an’—an’ smell fresh air—before—”

There was a smash as Hagrid’s trembling hand lost control of the milk jug and dropped it to the floor. Hermione jumped up to wipe it up and get another jug from the cupboard. Hagrid was telling Ron and Harry that Dumbledore had offered to come down and Hermione tried her best to stifle a sob as she reached for the milk jug.

“We’ll stay with you too, Hagrid,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Yeh’re ter go back up ter the castle. I told yeh, I don’ wan’ yeh watchin’. An’ yeh shouldn’ be down here anyway… If Fudge an’ Dumbledore catch yeh out without permission, Harry, yeh’ll be in big trouble.”

Hermione turned around to hide the tears that were now running down her face. She picked up the milk bottle to pour it into the jug and gasped—the jug wasn’t empty. Sitting at the bottom was a grey, balding rat. She turned to look back at Harry and Ron.

“Ron! I—I don’t believe it—it’s _Scabbers_!”

“What are you talking about?”

Hermione upturned the milk jug on the table and Scabbers fell out. Ron reached to pick up his rat.

“Scabbers! Scabbers, what are you doing here?” Ron cried.

Ron tried to sooth the whimpering rat as Hagrid stood up to peer out the window.

“They’re comin’…” he announced.

Hagrid shooed them out of the hut through the back door, brushing away their last attempts to stay. Under the cover of the invisibility cloak, they ran back towards the castle. Ron stopped and Hermione urged him to move, unable to bear being so close when they executed Buckbeak. Scabbers was wriggling in Ron’s hand and Ron didn’t seem to hear Hermione’s pleas. Voices carried from Hagrid’s garden, followed by the resounding thud of an axe. Hermione felt faint.

“They did it! I d-don’t believe it—they did it!” she cried.

Harry muttered something and turned as if to run back down to Hagrid. Hermione grabbed his arm to hold him in place and tried to block out the howling cries that filled the night. Ron was trying to convince Harry to stay under the cloak beside her, but she could hardly hear what he was saying.

“How—could—they? How _could_ they?” she cried out between sobs.

“Come on,” Ron urged them and they began to move back to the castle.

Ron began fussing with Scabbers again, who was still twisting in his hands. Suddenly, he cried out loudly in pain.

“Ron, be quiet! Fudge’ll be out here in a minute—”

“He won’t—stay—put—”

Hermione tried to move him forward, but Ron was so distracted by the writhing Scabbers that he did not notice. Hermione looked past Ron and saw, to her dismay, Crookshanks slinking towards them. She tried to call out her cat and urge him away, but it was no use. In a moment, Scabbers had jumped from Ron’s hand and run away, Crookshanks chasing after him. Ron threw the cloak off him and tore after them.

“ _Ron!_ ” Hermione cried.

She looked at Harry and knew he was thinking the same as her. They pulled off the invisibility cloak and raced after Ron. He was lying in the grass and holding his hand over a quivering shape in his pocket. Hermione tried to get him to get back under the cloak but before she could move, a gigantic black dog leapt towards them, pushing Harry over and wrapping its jaws around Ron’s arm. The beast began pulling Ron away and Hermione tried to chase after it but was stopped by something large hitting her. She heard Harry light his wand and looked around to see the menacing branches of the Whomping Willow waving above them. At the base of the tree, the dog was pulling Ron down a gap in the roots—a loud crack told Hermione the leg he had wrapped around the tree had broken and Ron disappeared from sight.

Hermione and Harry stood, desperately trying to think of a way to follow him. Hermione cried out for help, not even knowing who she wanted to answer. Crookshanks leapt forward and pressed a knot in the roots and the tree froze. Hermione and Harry pulled out their wands and followed after Ron.

\---

Hermione woke up in the Hospital Wing to the sound of hushed voices outside the door. Her mind flooded with memories of the night—Buckbeak’s execution, Scabbers, the dog, the animagus, Sirius Black, Lupin, Snape, Pettigrew. She listened to the voices carefully—they were talking about Sirius. Hermione lay still, not wanting to alert anyone that she was awake and stop whoever was speaking. She tried her best to stifle a gasp as she heard them talking about Sirius’ capture—did they not know he was innocent?

Hermione heard Harry stir beside her and he turned to look at her. She raised a finger to her lips and pointed to where the voices were coming from, outside the ajar door. She hoped they could hear more, figure out what to do if they just heard a little more of what Fudge and Snape were saying. However, at that moment, Madam Pompfrey came bustling over and began breaking apart chocolate for them.

“How’s Ron?” Hermione and Harry asked together, looking at Ron’s unconscious form in the bed beside Harry.

“He’ll live,” Pomfrey said, before starting on listing their treatments.

Harry sat up however and was reaching for his glasses—Hermione knew he was thinking through a plan and sat up too.

“I need to see the Headmaster,” Harry said, determinedly and Hermione felt relieved—of course, if they explained this to Dumbledore, he would understand. He would find a way to free Sirius.

“Potter, it’s alright. They’ve got Black. He’s locked away upstairs. The dementors will be performing the Kiss any moment now.”

Harry and Hermione shot out of bed in unison. Harry shouted loudly, alerting Fudge and Snape he was awake, who both came rushing into the room. Fudge looked disapprovingly at Madam Pomfrey and began to chastise her, but Harry interrupted.

“Minister, listen! Sirius Black’s innocent! Peter Pettigrew faked his own death! We saw him tonight! You can’t let the dementors do that thing to Sirius, he’s—”

The Minister cut him off and tried to calm Harry in what Hermione was sure he thought was a soothing voice—he seemed to believe Harry and Hermione had been confunded. No amount of arguing from Harry seemed to persuade him—in fact, the more he argued, the more Fudge seemed to become concerned for Harry’s wellbeing. Hermione tried to explain, hoping a second person might make him consider Sirius’ innocence.

“Minister, listen, please. I saw him too. It was Ron’s rat, he’s an Animagus, Pettigrew I mean—”

“You see, Minister? Confunded, both of them…Black’s done a very good job on them—”

“WE’RE NOT CONFUNDED!” Harry cried.

Madam Pomfrey stepped forward and tried to shoo Fudge and Snape out of the Hospital Wing, furious with the commotion their entrance had caused. The door opened again and Dumbledore walked in. Harry and Hermione jumped up again and tried to explain that Sirius was innocent but they were again again cut off by Snape. Hermione felt hopeless—no one would ever believe them if they couldn’t hear the whole story.

Dumbledore’s voice cut across the arguing and requested he speak to Harry and Hermione alone. Hermione felt a thrill run through her—did Dumbledore believe them? Pomfrey hurried to her office, disgruntled, and Fudge left to meet the dementors, Snape in tow. As soon as the door shut, Harry and Hermione burst into their explanation again, trying to explain in time to stop the dementors. Dumbledore held up his hand to stop them speaking and began to speak very quickly, telling them that their evidence would not be believed—but he believed them.

“What we need,” said Dumbledore slowly, and his light blue eyes moved from Harry to Hermione, “is more time.”

“But—OH!” Hermione cried, realising what Dumbledore was hinting.

He wanted her to use the time turner—he thought that they could do something, or that they had done something that could save Sirius. But using the time turner like that—she could be arrested. She wasn’t even supposed to use it for anything apart from her studies, let alone for saving a person the Ministry had in custody. But Hermione knew there was no other choice—she listened to Dumbledore’s instructions carefully and pulled out the time turner as he walked to the door. She brushed off Harry’s question and threw the chain around their necks. She spun the hourglass backwards three times and felt the familiar sensation of travelling back through time.

She pulled a dazed Harry to the Entrance Hall, where he seemed to gain focus.

“Hermione—what?” he spluttered and Hermione dragged him into a broom cupboard.

She hadn’t thought about how she would explain this to Harry—but she needed to be quick. They had more time now, but not much and she still had no idea what Dumbledore wanted her to do.

“We’ve gone back in time. Three hours back,” Hermione whispered.

“But—”

Hermione heard a sound outside the door and pressed her ear against it, shushing him.

“Listen! Someone’s coming! I think—I think it might be us! Footsteps across the hall…yes, I think it’s us going down to Hagrid’s!”

“Are you telling me that we’re here in this cupboard and we’re out there too?” Harry said in a confused whisper.

“Yes, I’m sure it’s us. It doesn’t sound like more than three people… and we’re walking slowly because we’re under the Invisibility Cloak. We’ve gone down the front steps.”

Hermione sat down on an upturned bucket, trying to think of a reason why Dumbledore would want them to come back to this moment. Harry, however, was staring at the time turner hanging outside her robes.

“Where did you get that hourglass thing?”

Hermione knew it was time to explain the secret she had held onto all year. She told Harry how McGonagall had given her the time turner at the beginning of the year and that she had been using it to travel to all her classes. Harry stared, taking in what she had said.

“Harry, I don’t understand what Dumbledore wants us to do. Why did he tell us to go back three hours? How’s that going to help Sirius?” Hermione said softly, after allowing Harry a moment to process what she had told him.

“There must be something that happened around now he wants us to change. What happened? We were walking down to Hagrid’s three hours ago…”

Hermione stared at him, trying to think what it was that Dumbledore wanted them to do at the moment.

“Dumbledore just said,” Harry continued, “just said we could save more than one innocent life…Hermione, we’re going to save Buckbeak!”

Hermione felt a surge of joy, then confusion.

“But how will that help Sirius?”

“Dumbledore said—he just told us where the window is—the window of Flitwick’s office! Where they’ve got Sirius locked up! We’ve got to fly Buckbeak up to the window and rescue Sirius! Sirius can escape on Buckbeak—they can escape together!”

Hermione stared at Harry in shock—was Harry really suggesting they save Buckbeak and fly him to rescue Sirius?

“If we manage that without being seen, it’ll be a miracle!”

“We’ve got to try, haven’t we?” Harry said and he urged Hermione to follow their earlier path down to Hagrid’s.

The idea felt impossible but she could not think of anything else that Dumbledore could have been meaning and Harry was right—they needed to try something. They raced down to Hagrid’s Hut, staying in the shadows to avoid detection. They watched themselves inside Hagrid’s Hut and Harry prepared to release Buckbeak, but Hermione stopped him—they needed the Committee people to see Buckbeak alive so that they couldn’t accuse Hagrid. They waited impatiently, both desperate to do something, until they heard a crash from inside the cabin. Hermione felt numb as she realised who she had just picked up inside the cabin, but she remained frozen—they could not be seen. Harry shifted restlessly beside her and she knew he wanted to go in there to catch Pettigrew.

“Hermione, what if we—we just run in there and grab Pettigrew—”

“No! Don’t you understand? We’re breaking one of the most important wizarding laws! Nobody’s supposed to change time, nobody! You heard Dumbledore, if we’re seen—”

“We’d only be seen by ourselves and Hagrid!” Harry said, still trying to pull away from Hermione.

Hermione tried desperately to think of a way to make Harry understand the gravity of the situation—the problems that could arise from it.

“Harry, what do you think you’d do if you saw yourself bursting into Hagrid’s house?”

“I’d—I’d think I’d gone mad—or I’d think there was some Dark Magic going on,” Harry said slowly.

Hermione felt relieved—Harry seemed to understand. They were distracted from Hermione’s explanation of what could go wrong by the arrival of Dumbledore, Fudge, Macnair and the Committee member. They watched themselves run out of Hagrid’s Hut and pull on the cloak. They waited for Macnair to vanish from his watch-post by the window—as soon as he disappeared, Harry raced forward to untie Buckbeak. Hermione watched nervously from between the trees as Harry struggled to urge Buckbeak to move. The group inside began to walk toward the door, but Buckbeak still refused to move. Hermione darted out from the trees and grabbed the rope to help Harry pull Buckbeak.

They got the hippogriff to the trees and stopped, hidden and trying to remain silent, watching as the execution party realised Buckbeak had escaped. The executioner swung his axe and Hermione realised the noise sounded very familiar—it was the same sound they had heard when they thought Buckbeak had been executed. Slowly, the group moved away in different directions and Hermione and Harry felt safe enough to talk again. They agreed to hide in the trees—there was not much else for them to do while they waited for Sirius to be captured. They moved along the trees to reach a better vantage point of the Whomping Willow and sat to wait.

\---

Hermione and Harry waited for what seemed like an age, watching as first themselves, then Lupin and Snape ran towards the Whomping Willow and disappeared from sight. For the first time that evening, Hermione had time to process what they had learned—Sirius Black was innocent. It seemed impossible, yet the evidence was undeniable. Hermione felt sick, thinking of Sirius being locked in Azkaban for all those years, knowing he was innocent—with the real murderer at their side the whole time.

Hermione shuddered,realising all the times Pettigrew had been sitting there while herself, Harry and Ron had private conversations, believing they were alone. What information did he know about them? Hermione had the unwelcome realisation that Pettigrew’s escape meant Sirius could no longer be proven innocent—the only way to convince the Ministry would be to prove Pettigrew was alive, but they had lost him. Sirius would still have to live as a criminal on the run, trying his best to evade the capture of dementors.

The thought of dementors made Hermione shiver, as though one of the foul creatures had just slithered past. She never again wanted to experience the feeling of having so many dementors closing in on her—the inescapable despair, the sense of complete hopelessness. As the memory swam into Hermione’s mind, something struck her as odd.

“Harry, there’s something I don’t understand—why didn’t the Dementors get Sirius? I remember them coming, and then I think I passed out…there were so many of them…”

“I didn’t see it clearly—I was trying to fight them off but there were too many…the one closest to me pulled off its hood and—it’s horrible Hermione, what’s underneath there. I think it was going to Kiss me…but something came across the lake—really big and really bright.”

“But what was it?” Hermione said, her voice hushed.

“There’s only one thing it could have been, to make the Dementors go. A real Patronus. A powerful one.” Harry seemed to be lost in thought as he described the Patronus and Hermione wondered whether he was trying to recall who cast it.

“But who conjured it?” she prompted him, after a moment of silence.

Harry didn’t respond and Hermione felt certain he knew who it was.

“Didn’t you see what it looked like? Was it one of the teachers?” she pressed.

“No, he wasn’t a teacher,” Harry said slowly.

“But it must have been a really powerful wizard, to drive all those Dementors away… If the Patronus was shining so brightly, didn’t it light him up? Couldn’t you see—?”

“Yeah, I saw him. But…maybe I imagined it…I wasn’t thinking straight…I passed out right afterward…”

Hermione grew impatient for an answer—maybe whoever it was could still help them? Had it been Dumbledore? Had he figured out Sirius’ innocence and rushed to save them?

“Who did you think it was?”

“I think—I think it was my dad,” Harry said heavily.

Hermione felt disappointment wash over her, then shame for being upset with Harry—of course he hoped it would be his father. But it was impossible—perhaps Harry had already passed out and he had simply dreamt, or hallucinated that he saw his father.

“Harry, your dad’s—well—dead,” Hermione said, trying to keep her voice gentle.

“I know that,” Harry said quickly and Hermione felt horrible for saying it aloud.

“You think you saw his ghost?” Hermione said, trying to think of a way to rationalise Harry’s memory.

“I don’t know…no…he looked solid…”

“But then—”

“Maybe I was seeing things. But…from what I could see…it looked like him…I’ve got photos of him…I know it sounds crazy.” Harry said, unconvincingly.

Hermione was sure he was only trying to brush it away for her sake and she decided not to push him further on it. Perhaps they would never find out who saved them.

They waited for another hour, staring at the Whomping Willow, both lost in their own thoughts of the evening. They watched until they caught sight of their past selves climbing out of the Whomping Willow, now accompanied by Sirius, Lupin, Pettigrew and the unconscious Snape. Harry shifted and stared furiously at Pettigrew. Understanding his thoughts, Hermione pulled on his arm and urged him to stay still, horror-struck as they were forced to watch Lupin transform and Pettigrew escape again.

“Hermione! We’ve got to move!” Harry suddenly cried out.

“We mustn’t, I keep telling you—”

“Not to interfere! Lupin’s going to run into the forest, right at us!”

Hermione gasped, furious at herself for not realising this flaw earlier. She ran to untether Buckbeak. Harry suggested the run to hide in Hagrid’s Hut, which they knew to be empty and they sprinted through the trees, pulling Buckbeak with them and hoping desperately that they were fast enough to avoid the werewolf. They reached the cabin safely and bolted the door behind them, before running to peer out the window—the view from Hagrid’s made it almost impossible to see what was going on.

“I think I’d better go outside again, you know. I can’t see what’s going on—we won’t know when it’s time—” Harry said, slowly and Hermione was sure he was thinking the same as her. She couldn’t help looking at him suspiciously, however—what if he couldn’t help from trying to stop Pettigrew?

“I’m not going to try and interfere. But if we don’t see what’s going on, how’re we going to know when it’s time to rescue Sirius?”

Hermione couldn’t argue—they did need to be able to see what was happening.

“Well…okay, then…I’ll wait here with Buckbeak…but Harry, be careful—there’s a werewolf out there—and the Dementors.”

Hermione watched Harry run out of the cabin and disappear from sight in the trees of the forest. She craned her neck to try to see the lake, just able to make out their shadowy forms beside it. A cold chill surrounded her and Hermione saw dementors, floating past, moving in the direction of the lake. She watched nervously, trying to keep sight of herself, Harry and Sirius, but as the dementors closed in, she lost sight of them. She looked around desperately for whoever cast the Patronus, but could not see anyone.

From behind a bush, a very familiar figure leapt forward, wand raised. Hermione grabbed Buckbeak and pulled him out of the cabin—what was Harry thinking? They knew there was someone else around the lake. He was going to be seen—the whole plan would be ruined. She sprinted forward and watched as the patronus Harry described formed and raced forwards, charging down the dementors. They were forced away and the patronus—some kind of large, horned creature, lapped the lake and then returned to Harry, who greeted it with an outstretched arm. Hermione hurtled towards him and he turned around, startled.

“What did you do? You were only going to keep a lookout!” she cried.

“I just saved all our lives…Get behind here behind this bush—I’ll explain.”

Harry pulled her behind the bush she had watched him leap out from behind and listened as he explained the realisation that he had been the one to cast the patronus—Harry had seen himself, not his father. Hermione could hardly believe it—was this what had happened all along? She and Harry watched as Snape ran toward their prone bodies and lifted them each onto stretchers. They watched Snape leave and Hermione realised they now only had moments until the dementors would be called to perform the Kiss.

Harry and Hermione climbed onto Buckbeak and Hermione grabbed onto Harry, feeling horribly unsteady as the hippogriff took off. They flew towards the West Tower, counting the windows as they soared past. Harry halted suddenly at the thirteenth window and tapped on the glass. Sirius looked up and ran to pull open the window, with no luck—it was locked. Hermione pulled out her wand and cast a spell to unlock it. Sirius stared at them for a moment, but Harry dismissed his questions. He climbed through the window and swung himself onto Buckbeak, behind Hermione.

Harry directed Buckbeak to the top of the West Tower, where they climbed off the hippogriff. Harry urged Sirius to leave, but he hesitated, asking about Ron. They assured him Ron would be fine but Sirius still remained, staring down at Harry. Hermione felt sure he did not want to have to leave him again so soon. But they could not delay any longer.

“GO!” Hermione and Harry cried together.

Sirius mounted Buckbeak and turned to address Harry one final time

“We’ll see each other again. You are—truly your father’s son, Harry…”

With that, Sirius urged Buckbeak forward and Hermione and Harry were forced to jump back as the hippogriff spread its wings and soared into the night.

\---

Hermione, Harry and Ron left the Hospital Wing in the early afternoon of the next day to find the castle almost deserted—most of the school were visiting Hogsmeade. Hermione had forgotten it was a Hogsmeade weekend with the events of the previous night. Neither she nor Ron felt much like visiting Hogsmeade, so they wandered the grounds, discussing what Sirius could be doing now and where he would go to hide. Ron was very persistent in asking about Hermione’s time turner—he was slightly annoyed that he hadn’t been there when Hermione finally answered his question about how she had been getting to class all year, though he kept reminding her that he knew that something was going on.

They were interrupted by Hagrid, who happily informed them of Buckbeak’s escape, to which they all pretended to be happily surprised. Hagrid also brought the news that Professor Lupin had resigned, much to their dismay—apparently Snape had seen to it that his condition was revealed over breakfast. Harry raced off to speak to Lupin before he left, leaving Hermione and Ron sitting near the lake.

“So you were using a time turner?” Ron asked, for about the hundredth time.

“Yes, I was, can we move on now?”

“Nope—I’ve waited all year for this answer. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“McGonagall said I couldn’t tell anyone—she even said I can’t tell you and Harry.”

“I still can’t believe you managed to keep it a secret for a year.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

“I don’t reckon it was—explains a lot though.”

“Like what?”

“All year, it felt like you were hiding something. Good to know what it was now.”

Hermione shifted nervously, hoping Ron didn’t pick up that she had kept something else secret from him for most of the year.

“Are you going to do it again next year?” Ron said suddenly.

“Do what?”

“All the classes—use the time turner again.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well you’ve dropped Divination at least—I still think that was bloody brilliant. Wish I could have done it.”

Hermione laughed.

“It did feel good,” she admitted, “you should have done Arithmancy.”

Ron shuddered.

“No, that sounds horrible.”

“It’s great! It’s so interesting—”

“Hermione, please don’t start on another rant about how fantastic Arithmancy is.”

“Okay, okay,” Hermione said, leaning down to lie on the grass.

Ron’s questions had brought back to mind the question she had been struggling with ever since she had climbed out of the trunk in the Defence Against the Dark Arts exam. Was it worth it? She hadn’t realised how much pressure she had placed on herself—that having the time turner had placed on her—until she had thought it had all been taken away. She hadn’t been able to cope—the thought of failure, the thought of failing McGonagall, Dumbledore, herself, had been unbearable. The thought sat uncomfortably in her chest—how had that fear become so pressing that it overtook her very real fears from the year before?

“What are you doing, Hermione?” came Ron’s confused voice.

Hermione had stood up very suddenly.

“I need to go do something.”

“Want me to come?”

“Huh? No—no, it’s fine. I’ll be back soon. Meet you in the common room?”

“Uh—okay—yeah sure.”

Hermione turned and walked in the direction of the castle, her mind decided more clearly than it had been all year. She walked briskly in the direction of McGonagall’s office, knocking quickly on the door when she reached it.

“Come in.”

Hermione opened the door and stepped into McGonagall’s office.

“Ah, Miss Granger—I was hoping to see you.”

“You were?” Hermione asked, taken aback.

“Yes, I had a conversation last night with Professor Lupin about your Defence Against the Dark Arts exam and I must say, I am a little offended.”

“What? No, no—”

“It’s alright, I was simply saying I was surprised to hear I was a part of your boggart.”

“It wasn’t you—it was what you were saying.”

“What was I saying then?”

Hermione hesitated.

“You were—you were saying I had failed all my exams.”

“Well, that seems preposterous.”

Hermione couldn’t help a small smile appearing on her face.

“I think it’s the time turner, Professor—I appreciate that you had the confidence in me that I would be able to manage this, but I don’t think I have been able to,” she said, looking down at her feet.

“I think you managed just fine—in strictest confidence, I can tell you your Transfiguration results are more than satisfactory.”

Hermione looked up, surprised. The trace of a smile flashed across McGonagall’s face.

“I think you’ll find that you have done very well in all of your exams, Miss Granger, but I never doubted that this would not be the case. You put in the work required to achieve high marks in all your classes—this is why I knew you could be trusted to succeed with the use of the time turner.”

Hermione opened her mouth to interrupt and correct her, but McGonagall held up her hand.

“I did not see the flaws in this—your days were incredibly long, I do not believe we found a way to make up for that. You ought to have been having more meals and sleeping more, not just studying more. It has been a very long year for you, Miss Granger, and I apologise for that. If you wish to continue, we will find a way to fix these issues for you, but do not think I will be disappointed if you choose to return to a normal schedule. It is not failing to recognise what you want and make the choice to put your energy into that, rather than splitting yourself across a number of disciplines.”

McGonagall finished speaking and watched Hermione carefully.

“You really won’t be disappointed if I say I don’t want to do this again?”

“Not at all—I admire the courage it takes to say it.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

McGonagall nodded at her.

“Would you like to look at your results and decide from there or do you have in mind what you would like to discontinue? If you choose one less class, I can arrange a normal schedule for you.”

“I think I know—I’d like to discontinue Muggle Studies. It is interesting, but—”

“But you are Muggle-born. I think it is wise to understand the wizarding perspective of Muggles, but this may be something best learnt outside of the classroom.

Hermione nodded, unsure what to say.

“I shall make the arrangements, then,” McGonagall said

“Shall I give back the time turner now then?” Hermione asked, unclasping it from her neck.

“Yes, I suppose that is wisest.”

Hermione placed the time turner on McGonagall’s desk, feeling immediately freer without the weight of its chain around her neck. McGonagall dismissed her and she walked out of the office, feeling more relaxed and content than she had all year. Hermione had not believed that it would be an option to give up the time turner—that McGonagall would be understanding, rather than disappointed. She smiled to herself as she began her walk to Gryffindor Tower. She walked slowly, looking out at the sunny grounds through the windows. She was so distracted by the view that she did not notice that someone had stepped in front of her until she almost crashed into them.

“Malfoy!” she said, shocked.

“Are you okay?” he asked quickly, reaching out a hand to steady her as she wobbled on the step.

She pushed his hand away, grabbing onto the bannister.

“What do you care?”

“Of course I care! I’ve heard all these things about Sirius Black and Professor Lupin and apparently you were involved and in the Hospital Wing!”

“So, you just want to know what happened?”

“What? No—I just want to know if you’re okay.”

“I don’t believe you,” Hermione said, though even as she spoke she realised how odd it was that Malfoy wasn’t at Hogsmeade.

“I’m telling the truth, Hermione, I am. I’m so sorry, I’ve been such an idiot—if you’d just let me explain—”

“I don’t—I don’t want to hear it,” Hermione said, trying to think of a way to leave. She didn’t want to have this conversation, she didn’t want to hear another excuse.

“Please—”

“No—you had your chance.”

“Not a chance to explain!”

“I can’t hear this, Malfoy!”

“Why not?”

“I can’t have you convince me that you didn’t mean it and just get hurt when you do something like this again!” Hermione burst out.

This got Malfoy to stop speaking and Hermione took advantage of his surprise to push past him and run the rest of the way back to Gryffindor Tower. She was forced to stop as the stair changed and, despite every instinct telling her to look forward, she lowered her eyes to see Malfoy, standing in the same spot she left him, staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face.


	14. The Prefect's Compartment Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone!  
> Here's a little early upload for Christmas! I hope you're all able to celebrate in some way today, or enjoy a day off if you don't celebrate!  
> This is the final chapter for third year and I just want to say thank you all for reading and commenting, I'm really excited for you all to read what happens in fourth year (perhaps a little romance?).  
> Enjoy the chapter!

_“Slide the weight from your shoulders and move forward. You are afraid you might forget, but you never will. You will forgive and remember.”_

_Barbara Kingsolver_

Draco leaned against the railing and pressed his head into his hands. She had run away from him again—was there something so repulsive about him that she couldn’t even bring herself to stay long enough to hear him out? How did she not hear that he was sorry, that he still cared about her? He’d rushed to the Hospital Wing as soon as he had been told she had been involved in whatever happened with Sirius Black—only she’d already left. Maybe if he’d gotten there earlier she would have believed that he cared—but it seemed as though she was determined to believe the worst of him.

He considered chasing after her for a moment, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand to see the look full of hatred she wore every time she saw him. He needed to find a way to make her listen to him for more than a few seconds—to actually hear what he was trying to say to her. For a moment, she had looked back at him and Draco thought maybe she would stay to hear him out—but the stairs changed and she had run up them, away from him.

Draco pulled his hands from his face and began to slowly walk back to the Slytherin dormitories. There was no point standing on the staircase—she wouldn’t come back. He passed a few students on his way to the dungeons—most were outside, celebrating the end of exams and enjoying the sunny weather. Draco couldn’t bring himself to join in. He was thankful that his dorm was empty when he arrived—he didn’t think he could cope with having to see and speak to his dorm-mates. Draco collapsed onto his bed, but was only granted a few moments of self-pity before the door opened again. He didn’t look up, hoping whoever it was would leave him.

“Draco?”

Draco sighed—Blaise would not allow him to wallow in peace.

“Yes?” he replied tiredly.

“What are you doing?”

“Lying down.”

“I can see that. I mean what are you doing in here when everyone else is outside?”

“I wanted to lie down.”

“Right.”

“Why are you here when everyone’s outside?”

“I wanted to find out where you were.”

“Well, I’m here.”

“Yes, you are.”

Draco sighed and rolled over, blocking Blaise from view.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re so—melancholy?”

“I’m not melancholy.”

“You certainly are, but we can pretend you’re not if you don’t want to talk about it.”

Draco didn’t answer.

“You know, it could be fun to join everyone else outside.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“You should go join them.”

Draco felt his bed shift as Blaise sat on the end of it.

“Misery loves company, Draco.”

“Good thing I’m not miserable, then.”

“Good thing. Okay, you enjoy lying down, I’m going to read.”

Draco raised himself slightly to see Blaise settling on his bed, nose in some book Draco had never seen before. He lay back down, giving up on trying to get Blaise to leave him alone. Draco went back to thinking of a way to get Hermione to speak to him, each plan sounding more impossible than the next. After several minutes, Draco sat up. Blaise seemed to not notice, his eyes still fixed on his book.

“Blaise?”

Blaise looked up from his book slowly. “Yes, Draco?”

“How do you always get people to talk to you?”

A wicked grin spread across Blaise’s face. “It’s in my nature—I’m a delight.”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh. Blaise quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, you’re a delight—sure. But what about the people who don’t want to speak to you? How do you get them to?”

“Everyone wants to speak to me.”

“I didn’t want to speak to you when you came in here half an hour ago—but apparently I am now. How do you do that?”

“I’m offended—why didn’t you want to speak to me?” Blaise asked, mock insulted.

“Because you’re a prat—now answer my question.”

“You know, maybe people don’t want to speak to you because you call them prats.”

“Fine—you’re a delight.”

“Why thank you.”

Draco glared at him.

Blaise sighed dramatically. “It’s nothing specific. I just find that most people want to talk, if you let them.”

“But what if they don’t want to?”

“Then I wait for them to speak first.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s exactly what just happened here—you didn’t want to answer my questions, so I sat and waited for you to decide you did want to speak to me.”

“That works?”

“Generally.”

Draco paused, thinking carefully.

“Who do you want to speak to, Draco?”

Draco’s head shot up. “No one.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I can’t—I don’t want to say.”

“Alright, alright—keep your secrets. You really are a mystery, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco stared, trying to think of a reply. Blaise simply smiled at him and picked up his book again. Draco leant against the headboard, trying to make sense of what Blaise had just told him. If Blaise was right, Draco would need to wait for Hermione to come talk to him—but with the way she was currently treating him, it didn’t seem as though she would ever seek out another conversation with him.

\---

Draco’s only glimpses of Hermione over the next couple of days were in passing and she seemed to always be flanked by Potter and Weasley. He couldn’t help but stare at them, trying to understand what it was about Potter and Weasley that made it possible for her to forgive them. He thought at times it seemed like she noticed him looking, but she would turn away so quickly that he could never tell if she had really seen him.

Draco panicked as the end of term approached—it didn’t seem as though she was any closer to speaking to him. He boarded the Hogwarts Express with the rest of Slytherin, picking a compartment with Vincent, Greg, Blaise and Pansy. For the first couple of hours, he sat, agitated, trying to join in the conversation. As Draco grew more restless, he found it impossible to sit still in the compartment.

Draco made an excuse and left his friends, walking down the carriages without much idea of where he was going. He reached the final carriage and stopped, not wanting to turn back to the Slytherin compartment yet. He looked around and noticed the compartment he had spoken to Hermione in at the beginning of the term—it felt like a long time ago now. Looking above it, he realised now that it did say Prefect’s Compartment—he hadn’t noticed that last time. No wonder Hermione had been so suspicious. Deciding it was better than any alternative, Draco opened the door and sat down inside. He felt confident that at least here he would not be disturbed.

Draco leant against the cushioned seat, finally allowing himself to feel the misery he had been pushing aside all day. He had lost his chance to speak to Granger—in a few hours, they would be back at King’s Cross Station and he wouldn’t see her again until the next term, by which point she would have had a whole summer to think of new reasons to hate him. He supposed it was time to give up now—he had lost any hope of being her friend again.

Draco sat in the compartment for a while, trying to cheer himself up—he had made and kept one new friend this year, and he still had Greg and Vincent. But even the thought of that couldn’t drown out the desire to be Hermione’s friend again. His friendship with Greg and Vincent felt strange now—they had been fine since Draco had been accepted back into Slytherin and it had only been a week that they didn’t speak to him, but it felt wrong. Draco still felt like he was stepping cautiously, careful to follow the guidelines, lest he end up disappointing them again. He hated that they couldn’t just be normal friends—that they all had to follow a particular set of rules to be respected by each other. Blaise seemed to manage to live outside those rules, but Draco knew that was never an option for him—Malfoys were the leaders of Slytherin house, always watched, always perfect.

But Draco was tired of trying to live up that image—he wanted friends who he could have fun with, who he could joke with and speak freely with, without having to carefully think through his words before. He had briefly had that with Hermione—or at least, he believed he had. Now everything else seemed forced in comparison.

Draco heard a noise in the carriage corridor and he looked up through the compartment window. Someone was walking past the compartment—someone who he recognised instantly, if only because he had spent the past several days thinking of nothing but her. Draco stepped up and pulled open the door before he could think about what he was doing and she turned around, alarmed by the sound.

“Hermione,” he called softly.

Her eyes shot from him to the sign above the door, confused.

“I—I—will you wait a moment?”

Draco didn’t know what he was planning to say, but he knew he had to say something. Hermione looked hesitant and she didn’t reply, but she didn’t leave, either.

“I just wanted to know—why can’t you forgive me?”

“I don’t—I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“Why not?”

“I already told you.”

“Can we please just talk?”

“We’ve been through this, Draco.”

“But we haven’t—you’ve shut down any small conversation we’ve had.”

“Because I can’t do this.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you’ll convince me to forgive you.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t let myself be hurt by you again.”

“But I don’t want to hurt you—ever.”

“You say that, but how do I know you won’t?”

“Just hear me out please—tell me what I can do to make this right.”

Hermione stared at him, hesitant. A shout of laughter rang out from one of the nearby compartments and Draco saw Hermione look towards it, panicked.

“Do you want to talk in here? It’s not a trap, I promise.”

For a moment, Draco thought he saw the ghost of a smile appear on Hermione’s face, but it was gone before he could know if he had really seen it.

“Okay.”

Draco stepped out of the doorway and sat back down. Hermione sat on the seat opposite him and looked down at her feet. Draco began to speak, but stopped himself, remembering what Blaise had told him. He fell silent and watched Hermione carefully.

“I don’t know why I’m even giving you a chance,” she said after a moment.

“Neither do I. I didn’t think you’d ever talk to me.”

“I still don’t want to.”

“Then why _are_ you talking to me?”

Hermione was silent again.

“Why do you keep trying?” she asked, not meeting his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“I thought this was all a joke to you—but if it was, why haven’t you given up?”

“It’s not a joke. I did some really stupid things, but I just—I wanted to make everyone happy. But it turns out when all your friends stop speaking to you, it’s pretty easy to realise who you miss most.”

Hermione’s head jerked up to look at him, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Do you mean—never mind.”

Draco felt sure he knew what her question was, but he let it go unanswered.

“Why did you do it then? Surely you knew I would have been furious.” Hermione said suddenly.

The question had burst out of her in a way that it made Draco think she had been holding onto it, trying not to ask it. He knew what she was referring to immediately and felt a horrible weight settle in his stomach—how could she forgive him for what he did to Potter?

“I didn’t know—I thought that you would have appreciated it.”

“Why would I appreciate you attempting to kill one of my best friends?”

Draco couldn’t help the wave of anger that came over him at the accusation.

“I wouldn’t have killed him! I thought it would be a harmless prank to embarrass Potter and make him feel as horrible as he made you feel! He treated you horribly and was fine with it—he certainly wasn’t your _best friend_ during that match.”

“We had a little fight! It didn’t mean I didn’t care what happened to him!”

“That was not a little fight! He and Weasley were terrible to you! I was there, remember?”

“We all made mistakes but we forgave each other—they’re still my friends.”

“How could you forgive them after that?”

“I thought you of all people would have been grateful that I’m forgiving!”

“Not to me—but you forgave them!”

“It was a stupid fight! We got over it!”

“But you can’t get over what I’ve done?”

“That’s—that’s different!”

“How?”

“They’re my friends!”

Draco breathed in quickly.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“It’s fine, I get it.”

“I just meant it was easier to forgive them.”

“Why?” Draco said, hating how weak his voice sounded.

“Because I knew that they felt sorry—that they didn’t mean to hurt me! I could understand them.”

“And you don’t know that I’m sorry? That I didn’t mean to hurt you?”

“Of course I don’t!”

“Right.”

“Well, how could I? You never told me you were planning that with your Slytherin buddies—how else was I supposed to think of it?”

“They’re not my Slytherin buddies—they didn’t speak to me for a week after that. Flint is still cold with me.”

“Am I supposed to be feeling sorry for you?”

“No—I’m trying to explain to you that those aren’t the friendships I care about! I was stupid and tried to impress you and my friends all at once and I was wrong! But I didn’t want that Slytherin friendship back—it’s all games and rules and you have to be so careful but it wasn’t like that with you! I wanted that friendship back—I wanted you back.”

“How am I supposed to believe you? I can’t understand you.”

“Why would I lie? What do I have to gain right now? I’m trying to explain it to you, if you would just listen!”

“I am listening!”

“Then why can’t you accept that I really am sorry—that I really didn’t mean for you to get hurt by all this!”

“Because I did get hurt! Whether or not you meant it, I did get hurt! How do I know you won’t just hurt me again when you next try to impress everyone in Slytherin?”

“Haven’t you been listening? I don’t want to do that anymore! I told you before, I’m forced into this, but it isn’t what I want. I want an actual friendship—like we had.”

“How am I supposed to tell the difference? Between you doing what you want and what everyone else wants you to do?”

“Because I’m telling you it’s not what I want to be doing. The Draco you believed I was, that’s who I want to be!”

“Why do you keep acting like this then? With Hagrid, you were still the same!”

“I was angry and I said things I didn’t mean because I was upset with you. I just saw you with Potter and Weasley and acted stupidly. But I never wanted the hippogriff executed because of me—my father was the one who organised the execution, I had to pretend to be happy about it!”

“Why do you have to live up to that image? Why can’t you just say you didn’t want Buckbeak executed?”

“I can’t! You don’t understand how it is—I hate being a part of it but there’s no way for me not to be.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I say I don’t share their beliefs, I’m not just going to lose some friends—the rest of my life will be torture! All of Slytherin will hate me and you can’t understand what that’s like! The kind of people my father associates with, they don’t allow you to stray from what is expected. The repercussions—I can’t face it.”

“So then how can we be friends? I don’t think many of your father’s associates will approve of you having a Muggle-born friend.”

“We were friends—we made it work.”

“As a secret! How is that worth it?”

“It was for me.”

Hermione stared at him.

“Was it really?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to say to you this whole time. I don’t want all of the things I’m supposed to—I just want to be your friend.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“I don’t know.” Draco said, shifting his eyes to look at Hermione. “Do you believe me?”

Hermione hesitated.

“I want to.”

“Then isn’t that enough?”

“Maybe.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t want to be a fool.”

“I’m not fooling you.”

Hermione looked at him uncertainly.

“I think I do—I think I believe you.”

“Really?”

Hermione nodded.

“Can we be friends?” Draco asked nervously.

“I—yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

Draco couldn’t help a smile spreading across his face. Hermione smiled back at him, then furrowed her brow.

“I—I’m sorry I slapped you.”

Draco let out a burst of laughter and Hermione looked at him, surprised.

“I guess I deserved it,” Draco said between chuckles.

Hermione smiled at him again and Draco felt a rush of happiness.

“I’ll try to be a better friend—I promise.”

“Just—I do try to understand what things are like for you, but it gets so hard to separate these two different Dracos.”

“I’ll try to be better—stop what I can and I’ll warn you of what I can’t. Just don’t give up on me yet.”

Hermione nodded.

“I’ll try.”

“Thank you.”

They both leaned into their seats for a moment and Draco tried to think of something else to say to prolong their conversation.

“So, do you have any plans for summer?”

Hermione looked up at him, hesitant for a moment before relaxing and answering.

“Not sure yet—Ron said his dad might get us tickets for the World Cup.”

“Maybe I’ll see you there.”

“You’re going?”

“Of course—wouldn’t miss it.”

They fell silent again and Draco found himself not wanting to break it. Hermione stood up after a moment.

“I should probably get back—Harry and Ron will be wondering where I am.”

Draco pushed himself up from the seat.

“I’ll see you next term, then?”

“Or at the World Cup?”

“I hope so.”

Hermione smiled.

“I’ll see you later, Malfoy,” she said, sliding open the door. Draco grabbed the door before she could slide it closed.

“You can call me Draco, you know.”

She hesitated.

“See you, Draco.”

“Bye, Hermione,” he said, dropping his hand as she slid the door shut.


	15. Tragedy at the World Cup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of fourth year! I'm really excited for you all to see what this year holds (a little bit of romance, a little bit of drama, hopefully less apologies but definitely more angst).  
> Happy reading!

“Draco, dear, are you almost ready?”

Draco froze at the sound of his mother’s voice.

“Sorry, Mother, I’ll be ready in a moment!” he replied, continuing his attempt to flatten his hair.

He looked at the mirror morosely—did his hair always look like this? Why could he not remember what his hair normally looked like? He picked up the comb from where he had cast it aside on the dresser and began to run it through his hair again with little success.

“Draco, we really ought to go.” His mother’s voice sounded much closer this time and Draco looked up to see her standing in his doorway.

“Just a moment more,” he said, staring into the mirror miserably.

“Darling, it’s only Quidditch. You don’t need to dress up.”

“I know but…” Draco trailed off, trying to think of a reason why he was so focused on how he looked.

His mother gave him a knowing look and a small smile appeared on her face.

“I understand, dear. Don’t worry, your father has already arranged to have dinner with the Parkinsons tonight. I’m sure you will have plenty of time with Pansy then—and your hair looks perfect.”

Draco dropped his hand from where he had been trying to smooth back a stray piece of hair and tried to hide his confusion. It was natural, of course, that she thought he was trying to impress Pansy—their parents had been trying to arrange it since they were children. Perhaps he ought to be grateful that his mother had made that assumption. He was sure there wouldn’t be a trace of a smile on her face if she knew the person he had been thinking about all morning—all summer, really.

Draco hadn’t seen Hermione since they had spoken on the Hogwarts Express, yet she had hardly left his mind. He couldn’t stop wondering what she was doing and what she was thinking. There wasn’t much for a fourteen year old boy to do at Malfoy Manor and, as a result, Draco had had plenty of time to think. Draco had spent the first part of the summer holidays thinking about how wonderful it was that Hermione was speaking to him again and what they would do when they got back to Hogwarts. He had been too excited to consider any other reason that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. But after two weeks of this, he could no longer deny it—he had a crush on Hermione.

It really was the worst case scenario—which he had to remind himself constantly. There wasn’t a single person who would approve of it, so he had kept his thoughts private and reined in his mind whenever he got too hopeful. Being with Hermione was an impossibility. It was only a crush—but he couldn’t help wanting to look his best if he happened to see her at the Quidditch World Cup.

She’d said she might be going to the World Cup in their last conversation. The possibility of seeing each other had been left as a question. He’d spent all morning agonising over whether she meant it when she said she may see him there. Was she going to try to see him? Or would they only see each other in passing? He had gone back and forth constantly, trying to decide if he should try to speak to her, or if she’d change her mind—what if she decided she didn’t forgive him anymore?

Draco was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of his mother speaking again—it was time to leave. Draco glanced at himself in the mirror one last time, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt and followed her out of the room.

\---

Draco landed with his parents at a portkey point close to the campsite. His father cast aside the newspaper they had all been clutching disdainfully, muttering about the disrespect of being forced to use such a common form of travel. They made their way quickly to their campsite and Draco listened as his father told him about the tent he had arranged for them—he had even had their peacocks sent early to decorate the front. Draco felt slightly embarrassed when he saw the extravagant silk tent—it looked more like a palace than something you would take camping, but he smiled appreciatively when his father presented it to them proudly.

If Draco had thought the outside was excessive, it was nothing compared to the lavishly decorated interior. It had appeared to be the size of a small house from the outside, yet inside it seemed as though some charm had been cast to make it even larger. A staircase rose from the end of the large entrance hall into what Draco assumed was a second floor—he had spent his whole life surrounded by magic, yet he still could not help admire it when he saw something as complex as this.

His father pointed him up the stairs to his room, where Draco dropped his trunk and stared around—it was nearly as big as his bedroom at home. He crossed to the other side, where a window he could not remember seeing on the outside gave him a view across the campground. He stared around at all the tents, noticing large sections of green and red where the Irish and Bulgarian supporters were clearly camped. He was just trying to make out how far the Quidditch Pitch was from their tent when he heard a familiar shout from below—a group of red-headed wizards were walking past their tent, pointing at the peacocks and laughing loudly, accompanied by a boy with messy black hair and a girl he recognised instantly.

Hermione was walking with Harry and the Weasleys, looking carefree and smiling happily, her arm linked with the Weasley girl—Draco couldn’t remember her name. He leaned forward to hear what she was saying.

“Shut up, Ron—I think the peacocks look nice.”

The Weasley girl giggled and Hermione shot a smile at her.

“You can’t be serious—”

“Of course I am—I think I’d like to get one of my own actually.”

“I’m sorry to let you down Hermione, but there are no birds out the front of our tent,” the Weasley father called to her from the front of the group, smiling good-naturedly.

“I forgive you Mr. Weasley—I’m sure our tent is wonderful!” Hermione said and the group moved on and out of sight.

Draco walked backwards and fell onto the bed—he hadn’t even spoken to Hermione and yet he felt slightly giddy. She had been so happy, laughing easily with the Weasleys and Harry. He allowed himself a moment of indulgence before he reminded himself that he could never have an easy friendship like that with Hermione—let alone anything more than friendship.

“Draco, what are you doing? We’re having the Crabbe and Goyle families over soon for lunch. Come down to the dining room.”

Draco sat up and followed his father’s retreating form out of his room and down to the large dining room. A house elf was laying out an elaborate meal and Draco leant against the doorframe to watch. He stared around the room, understanding now why his father had chosen such an ostentatious tent—of course the Malfoys liked luxury, but even more, they liked to show off their luxuries to their peers.

After some time, the Crabbes and Goyles had arrived and Draco sat with Vincent and Greg at the dining table. Draco fell easily into conversation with his friends, though he felt his mind wandering—their conversations had struggled to keep his mind focused recently. He knew his father expected him to form friendships and business partnerships for life, as he had, yet Draco struggled with their dull conversations. He missed talking to Hermione and Blaise—a conversation with either of them was never dull. He wondered if Hermione and Blaise would get along if he introduced them? Draco thought they might, but of course, he would never have the chance to find out.

He pushed his wishful thoughts aside and focused his attention back on Vincent and Greg. These were the friends his father wanted for him—a friendship with Hermione would never be considered, let alone accepted and Blaise’s family, though respected and pure-blood, were not exactly the kind of people the Malfoys typically associated themselves with.

The lunch passed uneventfully and Draco was allowed a few moments rest before he was told to prepare himself for dinner with the Parkinsons—they would be going to the Parkinsons’ tent and Draco suspected from the comments his mother was making that the dinner had been arranged specifically for Draco and Pansy. Draco would have to put more effort into pretending he was interested in spending time with Pansy than he did with Vincent or Greg. He and Pansy had been friends since before Hogwarts and had been close for the first couple of years, but ever since she had developed a rather obvious crush on him, Draco had found it difficult to spend time with her. He only hoped he could keep up the act until the end of the night.

The Malfoys walked to the Parkinson’s tent, which was almost as large as their own, though it lacked any decorative wildlife. His parents were whisked off immediately for a tour of the house, which apparently included a wine cellar and left Pansy and Draco alone in the lounge room. Pansy shuffled closer to him as soon as their parents left and Draco couldn’t think of a reason to move away.

“How’s your summer been?” he asked after a prolonged silence.

“Oh, wonderful! You know, we just got back from visiting Paris. It’s marvellous over there—so much fascinating wizarding history.”

“Really?” Draco said, sounding more surprised than he intended to let on. He hadn’t hadn’t really ever known Pansy to be interested in Parisian history—or any history for that matter.

“Yes, it’s incredibly interesting—you know Grindelwald had quite an influence over there and it's where Flamel lived and worked.”

Draco stared at her quizzically, unsure how to respond to this other side of Pansy.

“Sorry,” she said, blushing. “My parents wanted to go on lots of tours, so I picked up on a bit of French history. I probably sound more boring than Binns. How was your summer?”

“It’s been alright,” Draco said, still recovering from his shock over Pansy’s sudden passion for history. “I didn’t do much, Father had a lot of business to do so we didn’t get a chance to visit anywhere. Paris sounds wonderful though.”

“It was!” she said eagerly.

They fell into an awkward silence again and Draco tried to think of something to say.

“You say Grindelwald had a strong influence in Paris?” he asked eventually.

Pansy looked up as though she was surprised he was asking to hear more.

“Yes,” she said after a moment, “he had a big rally in the Lestrange Mausoleum—heaps of people joined him there.”

“I never knew.”

“Neither did I—but my parents were quite excited to see where it happened. They don’t exactly support him, but they found his arguments interesting.”

Draco didn’t know what to say to this, but was thankfully prevented from responding by the call to dinner. They sat together for dinner and apart from their parents’ encouraging comments, Draco managed to find the meal quite enjoyable. Pansy wasn’t as awkward around him as she had been last year and her parents entertained them all with stories of Parisian wizarding history.

After dinner their fathers disappeared to the study to discuss business, while their mothers drank wine together in the lounge room, becoming increasingly more loud and giggly. After one too many comments about how cute he and Pansy looked together, Pansy suggested they take a walk around the campsite—Draco was surprised to see that she seemed just as irritated by their comments as he did.

They strolled through the tents and Draco found himself talking easily with Pansy, together keeping up a running commentary of the tents and people they passed. The line of tents ended when they reached a large forested area.

“I can’t believe you have peacocks out the front of your tent,” Pansy said, laughing.

“We have more at home,” Draco responded tiredly—Pansy had been laughing about it since they had passed his tent several minutes before. “Father thinks they add class.”

“Do they really?”

“Who knows,” Draco said, flopping onto the grass.

Pansy sat down delicately beside him, leaning close. He didn’t feel as uncomfortable as before—she had been better company tonight than he had ever known her to be. After a moment, however, he leaned away. Pansy stiffened beside him and he instantly regretted it, feeling cruel. Pansy shifted uncomfortably and he felt an awkwardness settle between them.

“Draco, I think we need to talk about this.”

“About what?” Draco asked, trying to avoid the topic he feared she was bringing up.

“Don’t play dumb, Draco—it isn’t a good look on you. Look, I know you don’t like me—”

“Of course I like you Pans,” Draco said quickly.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Do we have to talk about this?”

“You’ve done a good job of avoiding it, but I’m getting rather tired of pretending.”

Draco stared, taken aback by her sudden forwardness. Pansy took a breath and started again.

“I know you don’t like me, but our parents have been planning this probably since before we were born—why don’t we just go with it?”

“Just go with it?”

“Well, I agree it would be better if this was natural between us, but after my efforts last year, I doubt that will happen.”

“Your efforts? What, did you not actually like me?”

“Does it matter? Draco, we get along well and I enjoy your company—it’s probably going to happen inevitably. It’ll be so much easier to go along with it.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Just going with it?”

She dropped her gaze from his.

“Like I said, I know you don’t like me, so does it really matter how I feel?”

Draco hesitated. He had hoped that it was all false—that he could say no and not hurt her, but Draco could see the answer in the nervous look on her face. Last year he wouldn’t have cared if Pansy was upset about him not liking her—but somehow, tonight he had enjoyed her company and begun appreciating her friendship again—Draco wasn’t prepared to ruin that.

“It matters,” Draco said slowly.

Pansy looked up at him slowly.

“Why?” she whispered.

Draco tried to think of a truthful answer, weighing up all the options presented in front of him.

“I do care about you,” he said emphatically.

“In the same way I care about you?” she persisted.

Draco sighed, unsure how to respond—he knew his answer but he struggled to speak it with her leaning so close to him, her breath soft on his face. What was so wrong with being with Pansy anyway? She was right—they did get along and it would certainly please their parents. He looked up and met her eyes.

“Maybe.”

“Really?”

Draco tried to give himself time to answer, but Pansy was leaning in and felt his head tilt forward. His lips crashed on hers clumsily, all thoughts of right and wrong forced from his mind. He had never kissed someone before and he realised very quickly that he had no idea what he was doing—why had he never thought about what to do when he kissed someone? Of course, there was only one person he had thought of kissing and he had imagined that would be perfect. His panic brought a distant thought to his mind and he saw Hermione’s face swim before his closed eyelids. The image was enough to shock him from whatever reverie he had been in. He couldn’t like Pansy—he had a crush on Hermione.

Draco pulled back quickly and looked away from Pansy. He tried not to notice the confused look on her face.

“Draco?”

“We should probably go back. It’s late.”

“Oh, okay,” said Pansy, sounding confused.

He stood up and began walking back the way they came, only pausing for a moment to wait for Pansy to catch up.

“Draco?” she asked again, coming up beside him.

“Yes?” he replied, his voice sharper than he meant it to be.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

She reached for his hand and he pulled it away instinctively.

“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling guilty when he saw the hurt look on her face.

“What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything—I just didn’t expect that.”

“Well neither did I, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

Draco didn’t respond.

“What’s the matter, Draco? Is there someone else?”

Draco faltered in his step.

“Of course not,” he said hurriedly.

Was he that obvious? If Pansy was guessing then soon enough she could figure out exactly where his interests lay and that would be the end of everything. He needed to admit that nothing would ever happen with Hermione—they could be friends in the strange way that they were now, but nothing more. He and Pansy, however, they could easily be something more—maybe he should just accept that.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, turning to look at her. “This just took me by surprise.”

Pansy’s look of uncertainty shifted into an easy smile.

“You’re so silly!” she said, giggling—Draco supposed she hadn’t entirely changed over the summer.

He reached for her hand and clasped it in his own, a little awkwardly, and they continued walking back to the tent hand in hand. He let go as they arrived at the Parkinson’s tent, not wanting to hear the excitement of their parents seeing them together. He was just in time, as his parents stepped out as they approached the door.

“Draco, dear, we were just going to come find you. Thank you, Cassius and Rose for your hospitality,” his mother said politely.

They exchanged goodbyes and Draco was grateful their parents were there so that he didn’t have to think of anything else to say to Pansy. From the warm look she gave him as he left, however, he knew that he had not avoided dealing with that situation. He followed his parents back to their tent and went straight to his room and collapsed on his bed, preparing for a sleepless night of agonising thoughts.

\---

The morning brought no answers for Draco, but not even his worries could distract him from getting excited about the Quidditch World Cup. They walked to their seats in the Top Box shortly before the match and Draco listened as his father listed the important ministry officials that they would be sitting with, including the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Draco feigned interest, thinking excitedly instead about what a great view of the game they would have from the Top Box.

Draco’s father hurried to speak to the Minister of Magic as soon as they arrived, but Draco barely noticed as his father introduced him—his attention was focused elsewhere. Sitting only a row in front of where he stood was Hermione Granger. Draco could hardly believe it—he had thought that perhaps the brief moment he had seen her passing his tent might be the only time he saw her, yet here she was now. She was talking with Potter and Weasley and hadn’t realised he was there yet—Draco was unsure whether to alert her of his presence. Before he could decide however, he saw the Minister gestured towards the Weasleys.

“—you know Arthur Weasley, I dare say?”

Draco saw a sour look cross his father’s face, though he quickly disguised it. Arthur Weasley’s expression looked equally unpleasant and though Draco knew it was dangerous with his father beside him, Draco looked past his father and Mr Weasley, straight into Hermione’s eyes. She was looking slightly shocked and Draco worried that she may not want to see him—perhaps she had changed her mind? Hermione glanced quickly at Potter and Weasley and, seeing they were both carefully watching the scene in front of them, turned to smile quickly at Draco. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face in response.

The moment was quickly cut short as Draco heard his father’s cutting whisper to Mr Weasley and saw Hermione’s face fall. Draco willed his father to stop, hoping that the presence of the Minister for Magic would encourage him to be cautious, but Fudge remained oblivious of the tension between the two families as he continued to talk about the Malfoys’ generosity. Draco willed himself to look away from Hermione before his father noticed, but he pulled his eyes away a second too late. His father was looking at him and followed his gaze to Hermione. He looked at her, a sneer spreading across his face that made clear exactly what he thought of a Muggle-born being in his presence. Hermione stared back at Draco’s father determinedly, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks and Draco suspected she too was hoping she hadn’t been caught.

His father restrained himself, however and Draco followed him to their seats, relieved. It wasn’t long before Bagman’s booming voice sounded across the stadium, announcing the arrival of the team mascots. Draco hardly noticed as the mascots entered the pitch, his eyes fixed on the back of Hermione’s head, willing himself to come up with a way to speak to her—now that he had seen her and she had seen him, he was determined to speak to her again.

He was distracted from his planning, however, as he caught sight of the pitch. A hundred of the most beautiful women Draco had ever seen had entered and as they began to dance, all thoughts of Hermione were suddenly wiped from his mind. He had never seen women so mesmerising before and the only thing he could think of was how to make sure they never stopped dancing. What would be enough to impress them?

“—what _are_ you doing?” a distantly annoyed voice sounded somewhere nearby and Draco tried to shut out whoever it was—why were they interrupting these women?

A mess of brown hair blocked his vision and Draco blinked slowly, as though he were coming out of some trance. He looked around and saw Hermione standing in front of him, pulling Potter down into his seat. Draco shook his head and looked away, his eyes avoiding the pitch.

“Disgusting, absolute lack of class and decorum—really, can these people not control themselves?” Draco heard his father say from beside him and for once, he was grateful to be able to agree with him, thankful to have something other than the veela to focus on.

Draco tried to focus again as the Irish mascots came out but his eyes kept drifting from the pitch to the girl in front of him. He was refusing to look anywhere near where the veela stood on the pitch—his father hadn’t noticed the effect they had on him but he wasn’t willing to risk that happening again. He just hoped his father wouldn’t notice how distracted he was by a girl far closer to them.

The match started and was enough to distract Draco from Hermione for a while—though he couldn’t help looking over whenever he heard her voice. The game did not fail to provide plenty of entertainment—fighting breaking out between the mascots, flying and stunts like he’d never seen and goal after goal scored by the Irish team. The game progressed faster than Draco had ever seen Quidditch played and he could hardly keep up with all the events that were happening across the pitch.

The collision of the Irish seeker resulted in a brief time-out and Draco found his mind wandering back to Hermione—he stared at the back of her head, trying to think of a way to speak to her. He needed a way to speak to her when there wasn’t anyone else around, where they could both speak freely. It didn’t seem as if the opportunity would present on its own and Draco struggled to think of some way he could get her attention for long enough to tell her he wanted to speak to her.

All Draco needed was to find a way to tell her to meet him somewhere else. An idea came to Draco—maybe he didn’t have to tell her. Draco looked around for his parents and saw they were both preoccupied in conversation with the Minister—Draco felt guilty, realising his father was probably expecting him to be speaking to the Minister too. But he only had a few minutes to try to enact the plan forming in his mind. He felt around in his pocket for his ticket and reached across to his mother’s purse and pulled out a quill. He dipped it in ink quickly and scribbled a note asking Hermione to meet him that night in the woods near the end of the campground. He pushed aside the disappointment at ruining his ticket, but he had nothing else to write on.

He considered slipping the note to Hermione now, but she was caught up in a conversation with Potter and Weasley and Draco doubted he could get it to her without either of them noticing. He would have to try later, when they were distracted. He slipped the ticket back into his pocket as Bagman announced the continuation of the match and Draco turned his attention to the pitch.

The game carried on and was just as exciting as before—the Irish team continued to score goals and the crowd became anxious to see the snitch. There was a collective gasp as Krum and Lynch dived together, side by side, the snitch ahead of them. Krum caught the snitch, leaving Lynch to crash again but it was the Irish side that roared their celebration. Draco looked at the score—Krum had caught the snitch, but Ireland was so far ahead that they had still won the match. Draco looked on excitedly as the Irish team flew their victory lap around the stadium and stared in awe as they came into the Top Box to receive their trophy.

Both teams left the stadium and the spectators began to gradually file out—the Top Box may have the best seats, but the position at the top of the stadium made it a long journey back to ground. Draco could hear Lucius complaining softly to Narcissa and Draco looked away, wanting to stay in the excitement of the Quidditch match. He looked in front of him and realised with a jolt that he was standing directly behind Hermione. He snuck a glance at his father and saw he was now caught up in a conversation with the Minister of Magic. Draco seized the opportunity and leaned forward.

“Hi,” he said in a whisper, just behind Hermione’s ear.

She jumped slightly, but didn’t turn around. Draco felt relieved that she had recognised his voice and hadn’t given away what he was trying to do. He pulled the ticket out of his pocket and reached forward for her hand, gently sliding the note into it. Hermione clasped onto the note, the small part of her face that Draco could see looking confused. She didn’t read it however, instead slipping it into her pocket.

Draco heard the sound of his father’s voice behind him again and stepped back slowly, hoping he had not been noticed. When he looked back at his parents, he saw his father still caught up in conversation with the Minister, his mother standing attentively beside them. Draco moved to stand beside his mother and smiled at Fudge, hoping his parents wouldn’t suspect that his happiness had nothing to do with their conversation and everything to do with the girl he would be seeing tonight.

\---

It wasn’t until Draco arrived back at the tent that he began to feel nervous. He could hear the sounds of Irish celebration all around them, yet he couldn’t bring himself to join in, shutting himself in his room and collapsing on his bed instead. What had he been thinking telling Hermione to meet him in the forest? He had forgotten in the moment that it was the exact location he and Pansy had walked to the night before—where he had kissed her.

Draco still didn’t quite know why he had kissed Pansy. What she had said was true, dating her was the sensible and easy option. It would certainly make his parents happy—fourteen and already set up with the perfect pure-blood girl to marry. It had been easy to convince himself they could be happy when he and Pansy were having so much fun together—easy to forget what he really wanted.

Except maybe that was all Draco needed—maybe he only needed someone who could make him briefly forget what he wanted. He was never going to be with Hermione—he knew she would never feel the same way about him. Even if she did feel something for him, his family would never accept it. He had already risked everything in befriending her—why risk it all again? He could be with Pansy—that option posed no risk. If he could just accept that he would never be with Hermione, then maybe he could be happy with Pansy.

Draco rolled over and looked over at the clock next to his bed—it was almost time to meet Hermione. He had to stop worrying about this for a moment—he was just going to meet a friend. Whatever he felt could be pushed aside until after. He felt nervous as he stood up to leave and tried to convince himself it was because he was worried about being caught. Draco walked down the stairs and looked around for his parents—he had decided it was better to tell him he was going out than slip out and risk them coming out to look for him. He peered into the living room but couldn’t see either of them. He was turning back to look in the dining room when his father came through the front door.

“There you are! Father, I was just about to go—”

“No!” his father cut across him and Draco fell silent, surprised by his harsh tone. His father noticed his shock and his face softened.

“Sorry, Draco,” his father said, his voice steadying, “you need to stay in,”

“Why?” Draco asked, a sinking feeling setting in his stomach—had his father somehow seen him slip the note to Hermione?

Draco’s father hesitated.

“I don’t want you caught up in that crowd out there. Just stay in tonight.”

“I just wanted to go for a walk, Father, I’ll stay away from the crowd.”

“I said no, Draco. Stay in the tent.”

There was a note of finality in his voice that stopped Draco from arguing and his father swept away to the office. He had rarely heard his Father sound so stern—he was strict, but Draco was usually trusted to do the expected thing. He thought carefully, trying to recall what he may have done to upset his father. He could not think of anything aside from the note he had slipped Hermione—but Draco was certain he had been discreet. If his Father really had noticed, surely he would know by now.

Draco moved to the living room, feeling defeated. He didn’t know what to do now—Hermione was going to be furious. Would this ruin the small amount of trust he had won back? He wished he could talk to her somehow, explain that he couldn’t get away. Was there a chance that she would guess he had been stopped, or would she jump straight back to her old suspicions? Draco felt nervous all over again.

Perhaps this was what was meant to happen—last night he had wandered to the same spot with Pansy, so easily, yet tonight it was impossible to be there with Hermione. Maybe if he had told his father he was meeting Pansy he would have been allowed out. He couldn’t risk using her as a cover—what if his father spoke to hers and they figured out Draco had lied? No, there was no way for him to lie his way out of this—he was trapped in the tent for the night. Draco lay across the couch and settled himself in for an uneventful evening.

\---

Draco remained in his position on the sofa for several hours, his own thoughts enough to occupy him. He hardly heard a sound from either of his parents, until his father came rushing into the room.

“You can go out now, Draco, the crowd has settled.”

Draco furrowed his brow—the crowd outside sounded no quieter to him.

“That’s okay, Father. I was thinking of going to bed soon.”

“I am telling you to go now.”

Draco looked up and was taken aback at the severity of the look on his father’s face.

“Okay—I’ll just go for a walk then.”

“Good. Avoid the crowd.”

“I will.”

Draco stood up and walked past his father, trying to ignore the sense of dread creeping up inside him. Draco stepped out to see people from surrounding tents joining together and celebrating. Someone drunkenly called out to him as he walked past, but he ignored them. There was something not right about how his father had been acting and Draco wanted to get as far away from whatever was happening as possible. He made his way through the tents to the outskirts of the forest. He was only slightly disappointed to see no one there waiting for him—he knew Hermione would be long gone, if she had ever even come, but he had hoped that they might somehow still see each other.

Draco walked until he felt covered enough by the shadows that no one would notice him and leant against a tree to observe the crowd. There were all sorts of lights and colours and loud shouts rang across the campground. Draco found it entertaining enough to see the Irish fireworks and the whole campground was lit by shimmering green colours. He didn’t know how long he ought to stay here for, but Draco felt it was best to stay away for a while—whatever his father was planning, Draco did not want to accidentally involve himself.

He began to lose focus on the crowd the longer he stood there, and didn’t notice at first when it changed. A loud bang brought Draco’s attention to the fireworks he had been watching before, except they were no longer green—there were strange flashes of white and red instead, illuminating an odd bundle of shapes in the distance. Draco felt the sense of dread that had crept in when his father had told him to leave knot itself in his stomach.

He looked away from the flashing lights and noticed the crowd below, no longer celebrating, but scrambling past each other, yelling and screaming. The crowd was pushing in his direction as the lights moved closer and closer. People began to run past him in all directions, crying out for each other and yelling as they tripped on the uneven ground. Draco stared past them, trying to see what they were all running from. There was a unified mass moving forward, pushing through the crowd and tents. The campground behind them was destroyed. Draco tried to see the strange shapes above their heads through the short flashes of light. When they suddenly drew close enough for Draco to see, he wished he had never looked. There were people being levitated above the group, held in position and being twisted around against their will by some sort of spell. There were two smaller ones that Draco guessed were only children. He felt sick—he knew exactly why they were being held up like that. This is what happens when a Muggle crosses the path of the wrong wizard.

Draco stepped back further into the shadows, distancing himself from this group. He tried not to think about the reason his father had known to ask him to leave the tent—the reason he had gone somewhere else rather than walked with his son. He tried not to think of where his father could possibly be now.

People were running past Draco now, but he did not follow them. He needed to stay here—he needed to wait until it was over, for his father to come get him and take him home. He would only make it worse by hiding. He leant against a tree, trying to ignore the distressed shouts of the people running past him. It was so dark he could hardly see them, which was perfect for Draco—hopefully no one would notice him either.

“Ron, where are you? Oh, this is stupid— _lumos_!”

A small light appeared just metres from Draco and he froze, recognising Hermione’s voice—he had thought the Weasley’s father would have gotten her to safety quickly, being a ministry official. The group pushing forward was dangerously close now and Draco shuddered to think what would happen if Hermione didn’t avoid them. Draco could hear Ron muttering something about a tree root and couldn’t help himself—he needed to somehow warn Hermione to move.

“Well, with feet that size, hard not to,” Draco called out, trying his best to sound relaxed.

“Go fuck yourself, Malfoy,” Ron spat at him.

“Language, Weasley,” Draco responded, thankful his voice sounded calmer than he felt. He shouldn’t pick a fight now—that would only waste time. His eyes drifted over to Hermione. “Hadn’t you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn’t like her spotted, would you?”

A loud bang sounded across the campsite and a flash of light lit up the trees momentarily.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione’s voice was argumentative, but she stared at him as though she was asking him another question—as though she was asking him what he knew.

Draco hesitated, only for a moment. He needed to ensure she understood his warning.

“Granger, they’re after Muggles. D’you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around...they’re moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh.” He tried to smile as he said it, but felt nauseated at his own words—he hated thinking about that happening to Hermione, yet it was the only way he could think of getting her to understand the urgency of the situation—or at least for Potter or Weasley to realise they should try to keep her hidden.

“Hermione’s a witch,” Potter said angrily and Draco sighed in annoyance. Apparently Potter did not understand that the fact that she was a witch did not matter—they only cared about her blood.

“Have it your own way, Potter.” Malfoy paused again—he knew the one thing he could say that would make them understand what this was about, but couldn’t look at Hermione as the word formed in his lips. “If you think they can’t spot a Mudblood, stay where you are.”

The reaction was as Draco expected—Weasley and Potter yelled but Draco ignored it as Hermione caught his eye and nodded. He had never felt so relieved as she urged Potter and Weasley to move forward—she had believed him. He turned to watch them run out of sight and leant against the tree, his heart racing.

Hermione had seemed to understand him and he hoped she could forgive him too—he didn’t mean any of the things he had said and hated saying them, but Hermione was safe and hopefully that made it worth it. He just hoped she knew that he would never say those things about her willingly.

He tried not to think about his father in that group—Potter had asked him, like he already knew the answer. He’d asked if Draco’s father was there and Draco had done everything he could to maintain his collected appearance—because the truth was, Draco was almost certain his father was under one of those masks and he had no idea what to do about it.

The group was almost at the forest now and Draco began to panic, wondering if he could move further back, when a new light illuminated the sky. A green, glittering haze covered the sky, centred around the image of a skull with a serpent reaching out of its mouth. Draco knew the sign instantly and he felt sick.

A new shout of screams erupted from all around him, but it was not only the people fleeing that were in chaos now—the masked group were disappearing, running and disapparating in all directions. Draco briefly saw Ministry officials rush in to catch the Muggle family before he felt someone clasp onto his arm and was engulfed by a tight, suffocating sensation—he closed his eyes, thinking he was going to pass out and wondered what curse he had been struck by. It was just as he thought he had no breath left that he felt air seep into his lungs and he breathed in deeply.

Draco regained his breath and saw he was standing in front of their manor—he was home. He looked to his right and saw his father clasping his arm and Draco realised he had just apparated. He stared at his father, terrified to speak.

“Get inside, your mother is there already,” his father said stiffly, avoiding looking at him.

Draco walked toward the front door and stepped inside. He was surprised when his father followed him. His mother was waiting in the entrance hall and reached out for him, but he turned to look at his father.

“What happened?”

His father took a deep breath.

“There was a disturbance and we apparated home immediately for safety,” he said firmly.

“But—”

“No, Draco—we apparated home as soon as the disturbance started and you know nothing else—understood?”

Draco looked from his father’s hardened face to his mother’s nervous one and nodded.

“Understood. We apparated home as soon as the disturbance started and I don’t know anything else about it.”

His father simply nodded and left the room. Draco looked at his mother for a moment, hoping she would provide him with something more, but she simply stared at him, before turning and following his father. Draco looked around the empty entrance hall, the shouts from the night still ringing in his head. It seemed as though every one of his problems had just increased tenfold.


	16. A Fluffy Problem

“I think that one’s empty,” Ron said, pointing to a compartment midway down the busy carriage.

Hermione pushed the door open and pulled her trunk in, moving aside for Harry and Ron to follow. They heaved their trunks into the luggage carriers and sat down, ready for the long journey to Hogwarts. They had hardly been sitting for a minute, however, when Ron stood up, muttering irritably about Pigwidgeon. He pulled something from his luggage and threw it over the owl’s cage. Hermione decided not to comment on the frills of what were apparently his dress robes—Ginny had told her about Ron’s new robes and his unenthusiastic response.

“Bagman wanted to tell us what’s happening at Hogwarts…” Ron was saying as he sat back down.

Hermione suddenly heard another voice and her attention shifted from Ron’s comments. She leaned back in her seat to hear better—she hadn’t heard that voice since the Quidditch World Cup. The last time she had seen Draco his voice had rung with contempt and hatred. Hermione had believed then that there was a warning behind his words—that they were only a mask to allow him to talk to her in front of Harry and Ron. But she wondered now if that really was true—had she read into something that wasn’t there?

“Shh!” she whispered over Ron’s complaints, unable to hear Draco clearly over him.

Ron and Harry stared at her in shock and Hermione looked away, realising she needed to think of an explanation quickly. Ron and Harry’s heads turned to the open compartment door, however and they seemed to understand—or at least understand that she was trying to listen to Draco. She doubted they knew why. His drawling voice carried through clearly now and Hermione realised that he was only talking about the other wizarding schools. She tried not to feel disappointed. What had she expected? It wasn’t as though he was going to be talking loudly about any hidden messages he had tried to convey to her.

She had held onto the note he had slipped her at the World Cup as proof of their friendship over the last week of holidays—she didn’t know why he hadn’t followed through on their plan to meet after the match, but she couldn’t think of a reason he would give it to her if he didn’t intend on meeting her. She reminded herself of it now and tried to push any doubts from her mind—if she could only see him, then she would be certain. Hermione looked up and saw Harry and Ron still listening intently to Draco and stood up to shut the door, feeling uncomfortable at the thought of what they might overhear.

“So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he? I wish he had gone, then we wouldn’t have to put up with him,” Hermione said viciously, hoping that it was enough to convince Harry and Ron that she had no other reason to want to listen to Draco Malfoy.

She was thankful when Harry asked about Durmstrang and the conversation changed easily to a discussion of other wizarding schools. It began to rain heavily outside and Hermione pulled a book from her trunk to read. She was only a chapter in when Crookshanks started scratching at the compartment door. Hermione set the book aside, sighing—Crookshanks never liked travelling and hated being cooped up on the train. She reached down to try to pull him back to the chair, without any success. Giving up, she stood up and walked to the door.

“I’m going to step outside so Crookshanks can run up and down the corridor a bit,” she said to Harry and Ron.

They both nodded and she walked out of the compartment, an idea entering her mind as she did. Crookshanks ran down the empty corridor and Hermione stepped aside from the carriage she shared with Harry and Ron to stand in front of the compartment beside theirs—the one she knew Draco was in. She turned slowly and walked past, glancing inside and making eye contact with exactly the person she hoped would notice. Hermione jerked her head slightly and walked down the carriage to a compartment she knew would be empty.

Hermione had only been sitting in the Prefect’s Compartment for a minute when the door slid open and a fluffy, ginger cat darted in, followed by a smiling Draco Malfoy. He slid the door shut behind him and dropped the blinds. Hermione couldn’t help returning his smile.

“I like your cat,” he said and Hermione laughed.

“I think he likes you too,” she responded, pointing at where Crookshanks had sat himself, purring at Draco’s feet.

Draco reached down and petted Crookshanks. When he straightened back up, he was still smiling.

“It’s good to see you,” he said after a moment.

“You too,” Hermione said, trying not to think about the last time they saw each other.

“Good to talk to you, I mean,” Draco added, as though he had read Hermione’s mind.

Hermione was distracted from trying to think of something to say by Crookshanks attacking Draco’s shoelace.

“Sorry!” she said, pulling Crookshanks away. “He’s been cooped up and is going a little stir crazy.

Draco looked around and pulled a loose thread from the chair beside them and knelt down to dangle it in front of Crookshanks. The cat leapt towards it immediately and Draco laughed delightedly. Hermione smiled and realised she had never heard him laugh like that before—it sounded much freer than his usual laugh. She sat down on the floor across from Draco and watched him play with Crookshanks.

“Do you have a cat?” she asked, as Draco carefully pulled the string away from Crookshanks.

“No, I don’t—but there’s one at Hogwarts that I like to visit when I can.”

“Really? Whose cat?”

Draco turned red and looked away.

“Um…Flich’s” he said in a quiet voice.

“Filch’s? You play with Mrs Norris?”

“Well—yes—sometimes.”

Hermione stared at him.

“It was Blaise that did it first! And she’s not that bad.”

“You’re insane.”

Draco laughed and Hermione was surprised again at how easy it seemed. Crookshanks was now lying next to Draco contentedly and purring loudly. Silence fell between them again and the same question that had been bugging Hermione all week pushed its way back into her mind.

“Draco?”

He looked up at her and she found she couldn’t meet his gaze.

“What happened? When we were supposed to meet?” She forced the words out quickly, still looking away.

She heard Draco sigh loudly, but he didn’t speak. She forced her head up to look at him—he was staring at the floor now, discomfort written across his face.

“It’s fine—don’t worry about it,” Hermione said in a hurry, thinking that perhaps he had simply forgotten and she was now making it awkward by asking.

“No, I should have come—and I wanted to, it’s just...” Draco trailed off, apparently lost for words.

Hermione hesitated, unsure of what to say—she had never seen him this uncertain.

“Just what?” she prompted when Draco didn’t continue.

“It’s just—my father. He asked me not to go out.”

“Why?” Hermione asked, feeling she already knew the answer.

He looked up at her and a sinking feeling settled in her stomach as Hermione realised she was right.

“He was part of it? Part of that crowd?”

“I don’t know—he didn’t tell me anything.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean he doesn’t tell me about that sort of thing—how am I supposed to know if he was involved?”

“Because he’s your father,”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“That just because he doesn’t tell you something, doesn’t mean you don’t understand what’s going on.”

Draco sighed and reached out to scratch Crookshanks, delaying his response.

“I’m not supposed to talk about that night to anyone—especially not to you.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to talk to me about anything.”

Draco gave a short laugh, entirely different from the carefree one that had rung out only a few minutes ago.

“All I know is that when I tried to go out to see you, my father told me he wanted to stay inside. A few hours later he came back and changed his mind.”

“Draco, you know what that means.”

“Of course I do, but it’s not really a topic I enjoy to discuss.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be apologising. You were the one in danger that night.”

“Thanks for warning me.”

Draco looked at her uncertainly.

“I’m sorry for calling you a—I’m sorry for what I said. I couldn’t think of any other way to tell you.”

“It’s okay, I understood. Although it didn’t do much to win over Harry and Ron.”

“I think my chances were slim there anyway.”

Hermione couldn’t help smiling and she felt some of the tension between them ease. Draco was still playing with Crookshanks and she couldn’t bring herself to push the topic.

“How were your holidays?” she asked.

“Good—not very interesting. Usually we’d go somewhere, but this year I was just at the manor.”

“Where would you usually go?”

“We went to France last year.”

“Oh that sounds wonderful! I hear there’s lots of interesting wizarding history in France.”

“Yeah—um, we went to Italy too, once.” Draco said awkwardly.

“Why didn’t you go anywhere this year?” Hermione asked, wondering why Draco didn’t want to talk about France.

“Father was busy,” Draco responded shortly.

Hermione paused, realising the topic she had unknowingly brought up again.

“Okay,” she responded, not wanting to push it further.

“What about you?” Draco asked, apparently equally happy to brush over the uncomfortable topic.

“I didn’t go anywhere these holidays—well I did stay at Ron’s for a week with Harry.”

“Did you?” asked Draco quickly.

“Yeah, well I went with the Weasleys to the Quidditch World Cup—I can’t really take my parents to that sort of thing.”

“Right, of course.”

“It was a good match, wasn’t it?”

“It was amazing! I never expected for Krum to catch the snitch but not win—Krum alone was incredible.”

“You sound like Ron.”

“Please refrain from comparing me to Weasley.”

“You know, if you, Harry and Ron just talked about Quidditch I think the three of you would manage to get along quite well.”

“I doubt that.”

“All three of you talk about it in the same obsessive way.”

“I’m not obsessive!”

“Whatever you say.”

He shook his head at her and glanced down at his watch.

“I should probably go—they’ll start to wonder where I am.”

“You’re probably right,” Hermione said, realising she had never fished her watch out from her trunk where she had left it last year.

“You really need to get a watch,” Draco said, glancing at her wrist.

“I have one.”

“Then wear it.”

She shook her head at him and reached across to pick up Crookshanks. They stood together and Hermione held back as Draco opened the door.

“You go first—I’ll wait a minute.”

“How will you know without a watch?” Draco said, smirking.

“I think I can guess.”

“If you say so.”

“Goodbye Draco,” Hermione said, her irritation lacking conviction as she smiled.

“Bye Hermione,” he said, returning her smile as he stepped out of the compartment.

Hermione leaned forward to look out the window after him and watched Draco walk back to his compartment. She waited a moment and walked out after him, carefully avoiding looking into his compartment as she walked to where Harry and Ron were sitting.

\---

Hermione clutched her stomach as she walked to the dungeons, wishing she hadn’t eaten dinner so quickly. She hadn’t lied when she told Harry and Ron that she had to go to the library to get work done, but it wasn’t the only reason she had rushed from dinner. She was determined to find Draco and talk to him—she didn’t really know what she was going to say, but she knew she had to at least try.

Ron and Harry had found Moody’s demonstration to be hilarious, but Hermione hadn’t agreed—human transfiguration was dangerous and to perform it on an unwilling victim was horribly risky. She had seen the look on Draco’s face when Moody had hauled him out of there to talk to Snape and knew he was furious. She just hoped it wasn’t directed at Harry and Ron—or her. Hermione knew it was reckless to look for him near Snape’s office, where she knew both Snape and Moody could be, but she couldn’t stand the idea of not knowing if he was angry at her.

She reached the dungeon corridor that led to Snape’s office and paused, listening for any sound. She could faintly hear the sound of voices and relief washed over her—they were still there. Hermione looked around for somewhere to wait, not wanting to be caught by Snape and Moody. There wasn’t anything wrong with her being there, but she was sure they would find her standing in a dungeon corridor odd. She ducked into the potions classroom near Snape’s office and hoped none of them would come in.

Hermione waited in the classroom, listening carefully to the voices travelling from Snape’s office. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it sounded as though it was mostly Moody and Snape talking. It seemed to be an awfully long conversation—surely it didn’t usually take this long for professors to decide on a detention? Hermione leant against the wall as she waited, trying not to feel anxious. She and Draco had been fine earlier today in Arithmancy—more than fine, actually. They had sat in the same spots as last year and quietly completed the work Professor Vector had given them together. She had been so happy after the lesson that she hadn’t been able to hide her smile from Harry and Ron. Of course, it was only moments later that Draco had picked a fight with Harry and Ron, and Moody had transfigured him into a ferret.

Perhaps Hermione ought to be angry at Draco, rather than waiting in hiding to check he wasn’t angry at her—he was the one who started the fight, after all. Hermione dismissed the thought, reminding herself of the conversations she and Draco had about his family and his house. She had no way of knowing if Draco’s father or one of his Slytherin friends had shown him the article and suggested he show Ron—there was no point worrying about it until she knew. She wished Draco didn’t always have to be the leader of his group—it would be much easier if he weren’t always at the forefront of every Gryffindor-Slytherin argument. If he was allowed to step back, it would be so much easier for them to be friends—they might not even have to hide it. But Hermione knew the role Draco had to play, as much as she wished it to be different.

The voices suddenly grew louder and Hermione realised Moody had stepped into the corridor again—apparently the meeting was over. Hermione shifted back into the shadows of the classroom to avoid being seen and listened carefully to hear when it was safe to find Draco.

“I want to search your storeroom, while I’m here,” Moody’s gruff voice was saying.

“And why should I allow that?” Snape’s voice sounded dangerously soft.

“I have permission from Dumbledore to search every teacher’s office.”

“Dumbledore trusts me—”

“Then you should have nothing to hide. Dumbledore may trust you, but I still remember—”

“That’s enough! Search it if you so wish!”

Hermione heard the sound of Moody’s thumping steps drawing closer and realised that Moody was headed straight to the classroom she was hiding in—she looked around and realised it was the room that connected to the potion’s storeroom. Hermione stepped back, panicking and searched for somewhere in the room to hide—she did not want to have to explain what she was doing hiding in a classroom. She glanced out the door to see Draco walking past and waved her arms wildly to get his attention. Draco stared at her, confusion written across his face, then turned to stare behind him and seemed to understand.

“Professor Moody, sir, I just had a question about my detention,” Draco asked and Moody turned to stare at him, his back faced towards the door.

Hermione stepped quietly towards the door and slipped out, stepping carefully around the corner as Moody answered whatever question Draco asked. She leant against the wall and let out a quiet sigh of relief. A moment later, Draco appeared around the corner.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“I—I wanted to check you were okay—and that you weren’t angry,” Hermione replied quickly, feeling stupid.

“I’m fine—but I am angry.”

“I’m sorry, you know Harry doesn’t mean those things—he only said it to defend Ron. I try to stop it when I can, but—”

“What? No, I’m not angry at you—or Potter, really. I deserved it for what I was saying. Not that I even wanted to say anything, but Greg had just shown me the article and then Weasley was right there…”

Draco trailed off, looking uncertain.

“I understand,” Hermione said and Draco looked relieved.

There was a loud crash from behind them and the sound of someone running across the corridor.

“I said you could search it, not destroy it!” they heard Snape cry.

“We better go,” Draco whispered. “You first, it won’t look odd if they find me here.”

Hermione nodded and turned down the corridor, feeling strangely disappointed. She pushed the feeling away and turned toward the library, thinking about house elves.

\---

Hermione tried not to feel guilty about telling Harry and Ron she was studying in the library. It was only half a lie, she was planning on studying—just not in the library. Draco had slipped her a note in Arithmancy asking if she wanted to study in the dungeon classroom they had used last year and Hermione had agreed to meet after lessons. It was nice to have someone to study with now—Harry and Ron usually got distracted and ended up talking too much for her to concentrate. She had planned to spend the afternoon working on S.P.E.W., but she supposed she could always do that after.

Draco was already in the classroom when Hermione arrived. He looked up and smiled at her, moving his books aside so she could use the desk next to him. Hermione put her books down, feeling slightly awkward—she had just remembered the last time they had been in this room. She knew that it was in the past, but the memory of her storming out was too clear in her memory to push away.

“You okay?” Draco said.

Hermione looked at him suddenly and realised she still hadn’t sat down.

“Yeah—fine,” she said quickly, dropping into the chair.

Draco looked at her disbelievingly.

“Okay,” she said reluctantly, “I just remembered the last time we were here.”

Draco’s face paled.

“You’re regretting coming?” he said, in a would-be casual voice.

“No—I just feel embarrassed. Maybe if I’d heard you out then, I would have actually had friends for most of last year.”

Draco’s jaw tightened, but when he spoke his voice was calm.

“You shouldn’t feel embarrassed—I was a prick last year,”

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t speak.

“Do you think we can just forget about it?”

“Yeah, I think we can,” Draco said with a small smile, “I certainly want to forget you slapping me,” he added jokingly.

“Oh my goodness, I’d forgotten that—so much happened last year, I—”

“I can’t believe you’d forget—what do you go around slapping that many people that you can’t remember who you’ve slapped anymore?”

“No! I would never normally, I was just upset about Hagrid and angry at you and then you were talking about Hagrid and I was so stressed—”

“Hermione, calm down! I’m not angry.”

“I would be if I were you.”

“Well I’m not.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine—it’s forgotten.”

Hermione relaxed in her chair and leaned over to look at what Draco was working on.

“Potions?”

“Yeah, I figured I may as well start the essay.”

“Okay, I’ll start it too,” Hermione said, pulling out some parchment.

As she pulled the paper out, her homework list fell out and Draco reached to pick it up.

“Ah, what’s on the list today?” he asked, looking down at it.

“It’s only homework things.”

“Spew?” Draco asked, incredulously, “which class is that for?”

Hermione had forgotten she’d added it to the list.

“Oh—that one isn’t homework. It’s S.P.E.W. not spew.”

“Well now I understand.”

“It’s just a project I’m working on.”

“What for?”

“For—for house elves.”

“House elves? What are you doing for them?

“I’m trying to improve their working conditions—it’s horrible the way they’re treated!”

Draco stared, bemused.

“Don’t start, Ron’s already told me that it’s what they love and all that—I don’t believe it. They can’t love being slaves.”

“Well, I certainly don’t want to agree with Weasley.”

“Good. Can we go back to working on the essay now?”

“Okay,” Draco said, still giving her a puzzled look.

They worked side by side, occasionally talking to ask a question about the essay, or the importance of a particular ingredient. It was almost five when Draco leant back in his chair, dropping his quill on the desk.

“Are you finished?” Hermione said, looking up.

“No—just bored.”

“Snape never sets fun essays.”

“Is there such thing as a fun essay?”

“Sure! If the topic is interesting.”

“I’d love to see one sometime.”

“I’ll let you know the next time I get one.” Hermione said, leaning back over her parchment.

Draco kicked the back of her chair. “Take a break—you make me feel bad if you’re writing and I’m not.”

“You know you could not feel bad by writing your essay too,” she said, not looking up.

“That’s not fun, though,”

“I didn’t say it would be,”

“Come one, five minute break? You can tell me what you know about the Triwizard.”

This got Hermione to look up.

“I know the same as everyone else.”

“But surely Weasley’s family are all involved?”

“Yes, but they wouldn’t tell us—we didn’t even know until we got to school.”

“Really?”

“Yes—they kept teasing us about it though, hinting that they knew something big. It was infuriating!”

“I can imagine. Father told me about it as soon as he heard.”

“Did he tell you Krum would be coming?”

“No—I think it was kept a secret. They probably didn’t know for sure, with all his Quidditch commitments.”

“Do you think he’ll be a champion?”

“He’d have to be right? Although, I don’t actually know the other Durmstrang students,”

“I suppose you’re right—I doubt Quidditch skills are what the Triwizard tournament is based on.”

“Who do you think will be Hogwarts’ champion?”

“No idea—apparently the Hufflepuffs are excited about Cedric.”

“We can’t have a Hufflepuff champion.”

“I hope it’s Gryffindor.”

“I’m going to move past that so I don’t start an argument.”

“Good idea.”

Hermione glanced at her wrist, before remembering her watch was still in her trunk.

“You still don’t have a watch?”

“I do, I just keep forgetting!”

Draco shook his head, sticking out his arm for her to read his watch.

“I probably have to go,” Hermione said, seeing it was past five, “I wanted to go to the library before dinner.”

“Okay,” Draco said, “want to study together again over the weekend?”

“Yeah, okay—how about Sunday? I can meet you here after breakfast?”

“Sunday sounds good—maybe I’ll have finally finished this essay by then.”

Hermione smiled and picked up her things.

“I’ll see you then,” she said, heading towards the door.

“Bye,” Draco called, reaching out to pick up his essay again.

Hermione shut the door to the classroom and started in the direction of the library, trying not to feel disappointed about leaving Draco.


	17. Krummy Conversations

For the next several weeks whenever they could both get away, Draco and Hemione met in the dungeon classroom to study together. The more time they spent together, the harder it became to forget about his feelings for her. Part of Draco knew that he should be keeping his distance and protecting himself, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from wanting to be with her. Draco knew his friends had noticed his absence, but the benefit of being in Slytherin meant that everyone knew to stay out of each other’s business. Everyone, that is, except Pansy. The moment he stepped into the common room, she cried out to him.

“Draco, where have you been?” 

Draco walked across to where Pansy sat with the other fourth year Slytherins, trying not to look guilty.

“Uh, the library, Pans. Why?”

“No you weren’t!” she accused. “I looked, you weren’t there.”

Draco tried to ignore the amused look that passed between Vincent and Greg.

“Maybe you missed me.”

Blaise was now smirking too and Draco couldn’t decide who was worse to look at. He settled on Pansy and immediately wished he didn’t. She was pouting, clearly annoyed.

“Fine. What were you doing then?” she huffed.

“Studying—why else would I be in the library?”

“Studying what?”

“My, my, Pansy, I’ve never known you to show such interest in schoolwork,” Blaise said, still smirking.

Pansy shot him a filthy look and turned back to Draco.

“Whatever. Your parents sent an owl and I thought you’d want the parcel.”

Draco looked around.

“Where is it?”

“I left it in the Entrance Hall.”

“The Entrance Hall? Why didn’t you just bring it with you?”

“I tried to but I couldn’t carry it around _everywhere_ looking for you. My arms got tired.”

Draco cursed under his breath and turned back out of the common room. The package was probably gone by now, picked up by some teacher or pilfering student.

“You couldn’t cast a levitation charm to hold it up?” Draco heard Blaise saying exasperatedly.

“I didn’t think of it.”

“Clearly.”

The portrait closed behind Draco and shut out the sound of the argument. He was halfway down the corridor when he heard the portrait hole open again. Draco picked up his pace, hoping it wasn’t Pansy—he had been avoiding her since they had come back to school and from the sound of it, now would not be a good time to explain why. Not that he could ever actually explain why—he didn’t think Pansy would understand that he wouldn’t date her because he had feelings for Hermione Granger.

“Why the hurry? Something you’re trying to get away from?” Blaise’s voice called out from behind him.

Draco stopped and turned around, relieved it wasn’t Pansy.

“No, I was loving that conversation back there. Actually I was just thinking of going back to get properly yelled at.”

Blaise laughed and fell into step with Draco.

“Draco, darling, lighten up—trust me, it is not you who should be embarrassed.”

Draco huffed but didn’t reply—he felt a little guilty that Pansy was being made to look so stupid when he was the one who had kissed her. She had every right to be annoyed at him, given he had hardly spoken to her since. Blaise stared at him quizzically.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but Pansy’s affections seem to have grown a tad since last year?”

Draco remained quiet, looking resolutely ahead. His cheeks burned and he felt furious at their betrayal. Blaise gasped.

“Draco! What have you neglected to tell me?”

Draco was beginning to think he had been wrong about Slytherins minding their own business.

“Nothing,” he said, his cheeks still red.

“Nothing?”

“Yep.”

“Liar.”

“Fuck off.”

“No.”

Draco sighed.

“You might as well tell me—I can be even more persistent than Pansy if I want to be—although I do hope I’m a tad more subtle.”

“I think anyone could achieve that.”

“Hark! A whole sentence!”

Draco tried to look annoyed but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine. It may not be entirely Pansy’s fault that she’s so…persistent.”

“Why?” Blaise asked slowly, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“No, I’m not telling you.”

“Why not?” he whined.

“Because that look on your face is too evil!”

“I promise I will not use the information you’re about to tell me for evil purposes.” Blaise said, crossing a finger over his heart.

Draco stared at him, his eyes narrowed. Blaise grinned back.

“I might have…kissed Pansy.”

Blaise stopped so suddenly that Draco turned around in alarm.

“You did what?” he asked in a whisper.

“I am not repeating myself for your enjoyment.”

“I can’t believe this,” Blaise said, as if Draco hadn’t spoken. “What would possess you to do such a thing?”

“I don’t know! It was at the Quidditch World Cup—I was in a good mood and she was so different outside of school. I didn’t think about what it would _mean_.”

Blaise suddenly burst into laughter. It was so loud, it seemed to echo off the walls.

“Shut up,” Draco said, though his voice lacked conviction.

After a minute, Blaise finally regained control of himself and looked back at Draco, wiping his eyes.

“How different does Pansy have to be for you to forget what she is usually like?”

“I don’t know—she just made it seem so easy.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow.

“Not like that, you twat. As in easy for us to be together—it’s what makes sense really, and it’s what both our parents want.”

“Are you saying that you might actually pursue this?”

Draco looked at the ground and tried to understand it himself—he’d been convincing himself in and out of this ever since he had kissed her.

“Draco?”

“I don’t know, Blaise,” Draco said tiredly.

“Your parents can find some other pureblood witch for you—she doesn’t have to be the only option.”

Draco sighed—how could he explain to Blaise that he didn’t really care what the options were, when the one person he wanted to be with didn’t even make the list?

“Draco, if you start dating Pansy, I’m sorry but I will have to find a new friend.”

“She’s not that bad.”

“She’s intolerable.”

“At times.”

“At times? I’m sorry, am I the one who has been avoiding her all year?”

“Probably.”

“Well, she expects that from me— _I_ didn’t kiss her.”

“Can we just drop it Blaise? I’m confused enough as it is.”

“Fine—so what exactly is in this parcel we’re fetching?”

“No idea—probably just sweets or something the house elves baked. Mum’s convinced I don’t get fed well enough here.”

“How charming.”

“Yeah, sure,” Draco said, as they turned into the Entrance Hall.

Draco stared around the hall and was relieved to see a package near the front door. He walked over to it and saw his name on the thankfully intact wrapping. He peeled it back to see it was, in fact, full of various baked goods and sweets. As he picked it up, a letter slipped out from inside. Blaise stooped to pick it up and passed it to Draco.

“Can you hold it? My hands are kind of full.”

“Honestly, can anyone remember a levitation charm?” Blaise said, pulling out his wand and pointing it at the box. Draco felt the weight of it lift from his hands immediately and reached to grab the letter from Blaise.

“Thanks.”

“I hope you know I’m expecting to be paid back in sweets.”

“Fine,” Draco said, opening the letter.

His eyes narrowed as he read down the page—it was a letter from his father, with a list of each of the Durmstrang students coming and which ones he expected Draco to make contact with.

“What are you scowling for now?” Blaise asked, twirling the box in midair.

“Nothing—just something my father is asking me.”

“Is it to do with kissing a certain Slytherin girl? You could always just say you did, I wouldn’t expect you to put yourself through it again,” Blaise said in mock sympathy.

“I thought I asked you to drop it?”

“Sorry I was too busy concentrating on not dropping your box of treats.”

“You’re not even carrying it.”

“I’m still casting the spell.”

“Right—thank you for your hard work.”

“All I’m asking for is a little appreciation.”

“I said thank you.”

“Yes, you did,” Blaise said thoughtfully.

They walked in silence for a moment and Draco glanced back down at the letter.

“Apparently Krum’s coming for the Triwizard.”

“Is he really?” Blaise said with interest.

“My father says so.”

“How exciting.”

They had almost reached the portrait hole again and Draco paused nervously before going in.

“Wait, Blaise,” he said, as Blaise began to speak the password.

Blaise looked at him curiously as Draco reached into the parcel and pulled out a cupcake.

“You couldn’t wait until we were inside for your snack break?”

“It’s not for me,”

“Then it better be for me, because if you tell me—”

“It’s for Pansy.”

“Merlin, why?” Blaise cried.

“She at least deserves an apology—I promise I won’t kiss her this time.”

“You better not, I might spew.”

Draco smiled, suddenly remembering Hermione’s house elf idea.

“You look sickening.”

“Thanks,” Draco said. “Can you take the parcel to the dorm? I’m assuming you won’t be staying in the common room with Pansy?”

“Of course, your highness,” Blaise said, bowing.

“Great,” Draco replied, ignoring him and turning to say the password.

The portrait swung open and Draco saw Pansy was still sitting where he had left her. Thankfully the other Slytherins seem to have moved—Draco couldn’t stand the idea of making a scene.

“Pansy?” he asked cautiously, as he sat down beside her.

“What?”

“Um—I got the parcel.”

“Great.”

“I’m sorry you couldn’t find me—I was studying at the back of the library, it was hard to see.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m sorry, Pans.”

She let out a sigh of disbelief.

“I am—I’ve been horrible.”

Pansy did say anything, looking resolutely away from him.

“I should have told you back when we kissed—I’m sorry Pansy, but I don’t see you like that.”

“Really?” she hissed. “Then why did you kiss me?”

“I don’t know—I was confused and what you said made sense. I just got caught up in the moment.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I got you this,” Draco said, holding up the cupcake.

“Screw you,” Pansy said, knocking it out of his hand and standing up. “Have you ever considered that I’m not madly in love with you Draco? I just know what is expected of us and I’m not stupid enough to fight it,” she said in a low whisper.

Before Draco could respond, she turned and stormed away from him, leaving the cupcake lying sadly on the floor.

\---

Any worries about his argument with Pansy were pushed from Draco’s head with the arrival of the Triwizard guests. Blaise’s commentary throughout the school’s dramatic entrances had Draco nearly doubling over with laughter. They sat down for the feast and Draco was stunned to see the Durmstrang students walk towards the Slytherin table to eat, with Krum in the lead. Draco moved over instantly, making room for the students he knew his father wanted him to speak to. He looked hopefully at Krum and was shocked when he actually sat down across from him. Draco took a steadying breath and leaned over to speak to him.

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Malfoy—Draco Malfoy.”

“It is nice to meet you, Draco,” Krum said, in a heavily accented voice.

Draco looked around and introduced himself to the other Durmstrang students too, reminding himself that if he at least spoke to them all tonight, he could tell his father he had done what he’d been asked.

“This is a nice castle,” Krum remarked.

“It’s alright,” Draco said casually, “I’m sure your castle is nicer—my father almost sent me to Durmstrang, you know?”

“Did he? Ours is nice, but different,” Krum said. Draco waited but he didn’t elaborate.

The teachers and judges filed into the Great Hall and the students fell silent as Dumbledore stepped up to speak. He made his typical welcome speech and food appeared on the tables in front of them. Draco tried his best to continue his conversation with Krum as they ate, but Krum did not seem very talkative—he was staring around the hall and didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the conversation. Draco eventually gave up and began talking to the other Durmstrang students, who were far more chatty.

The plates cleared and Dumbledore stepped up again to speak and he began to explain the selection of the Triwizard champions to the enthralled crowd. Draco’s mind drifted as he spoke—he had already been told all of this by his father—and his eyes landed on Hermione, on the other side of the hall. Her eyes briefly met his and Draco looked away, trying not to blush. Before long, the student’s were dismissed to return to their common rooms—Draco tried to say goodbye to Krum, though he was unsure if he heard. He returned to the common room thinking of dangerous challenges, his father’s wishes, and Hermione.

\---

“Harry Potter.”

The hall was silent. Draco stared across at Potter furiously—of course he was using this to get attention. His eyes shifted to Hermione, who was sitting beside Potter, staring at him with a look of complete shock on her face. She whispered something to him and pushed him forwards. Potter looked like a sleepwalker as he made his way to the room where the other champions were waiting. He couldn’t help thinking it was odd that Potter looked so surprised—surely he had put his name in.

“Potter doesn’t look too confident, does he?” Blaise whispered beside him.

Draco shook his head. “Cold feet?” he suggested.

“Maybe,” Blaise said, though he didn’t sound convinced.

Hardly anyone listened as Dumbledore dismissed the students, a buzz of chatter filling the hall as students began to speculate how Potter had managed to include himself as the fourth, underage champion.

“Of course Potter was a champion—he couldn’t have anyone else be centre of attention,” Pansy said loudly as the Slytherins walked to the dungeons.

“Stupid Potter—did you see how scared he looked? Probably will run and hide as soon as the first task starts,” Vincent said, guffawing.

Draco didn’t say anything. He had been trying his best to remain inconspicuous around Pansy—he found they had fewer arguments that way. Most of the Slytherins stayed to talk in the common room when they reached it, however Draco continued to his dorm. He was surprised to see Blaise follow.

“Don’t want to join everyone else?” Draco asked.

“There’s only so much stupidity I can take in a day—really, how do they think Potter put his name in? Did you see the look on his face? Besides, he’s clearly not got the brains for it.”

“Maybe he had help,” Draco said, trying to sound interested.

“I suppose Granger could have done it—it does help to have smart friends.”

Draco turned away and pretended to be getting something out of his trunk so that Blaise wouldn’t see his face.

“Although she’s far too much of a goody-two shoes to do that,” Blaise continued.

“Maybe we’ve all just underestimated Potter—he’d probably do anything for the glory.”

“Yes, you’re probably right,” Blaise said and he crossed the room to the showers.

Draco collapsed onto his bed, trying to figure out why he felt so horrible. He’d managed to congratulate Viktor Krum and spoken to every person his father had asked him to—so why did he feel so disappointed?

The image of Hermione whispering in Potter’s ear swum back into Draco’s mind and he felt a knot of fury form in his stomach. She had never said she and Potter were any more than friends, but Draco couldn’t help but feel jealous at how comfortably they had sat beside each other. He’d never asked if she cared about Potter that way and she probably wouldn’t volunteer the information, so really, what did he know? Draco rolled over and punched his pillow—whatever Hermione was feeling, Draco was sure that the next year of her life would be devoted to Potter, and that didn’t leave much room for him.

\---

Draco didn’t see Hermione or Potter the next day and it only worsened his mood, imagining them off somewhere, her consoling him about his stupid decision. He stabbed at his dinner angrily with his fork, glaring at no one in particular.

“Are you going to eat Draco, or just massacre your food?” Blaise asked tiredly.

Draco dropped his fork loudly.

“That’s not very classy,” Blaise commented.

“I wasn’t exactly trying to be.”

“Well if you require some tips—”

“Just lay off, Blaise—Merlin, can’t you not be like this for once?”

Blaise fell silent immediately and Vincent and Greg stared at him. Draco looked up, realising how harsh he’d sounded.

“Shit, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologise, Draco. You’re making a fool of yourself,” Blaise said coldly, standing up.

He walked out of the hall, leaving his knife and fork placed perfectly on his unfinished meal. Draco heard Vincent and Greg start to snicker as he stormed out after Blaise. The Entrance Hall was empty when Draco reached it—he considered looking for Blaise in the Slytherin common room, but he doubted Blaise would have gone there. He had never heard Blaise sound so cold—his voice had lacked any of its usual humour. Draco felt horrible for snapping—he’d been so worried about where Hermione and Potter were that he hadn’t even thought about what he was saying. Though he and Blaise often threw insults at each other, Draco knew there was a line and he had gone way over it.

Draco sighed and walked in the direction of the Slytherin dorms. The closer he got, however, the less he wanted to be there. He changed his path and found himself at the dungeon classroom he usually studied with Hermione in. Figuring it was as good a place as any to sulk on his own, Draco opened the door.

Except the room wasn’t empty. Hermione was there, her back turned to him and standing in front of the desks they usually sat at. He cleared his throat and she jumped, spinning around quickly.

“Draco! What are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask you that.”

“I left one of my books down here and I wanted to check something in it.”

“Oh, okay,” Draco said, trying not to sound disappointed.

“I should probably head back—I told Harry I’d just left it in the classroom and this is a lot further.”

“Right,” Draco said, his jaw tight.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked, staring at him curiously.

“Fine. Go back to Potter.”

“Oh, Merlin—you think he put his name in too.”

“Well, didn’t he?”

“No.”

Draco stared at her disbelievingly and Hermione looked annoyed.

“Even Dumbledore doesn’t think he did it—are you saying you know better than him? Only a really advanced wizard could have bewitched the cup like that—certainly not something a fourth year could do.”

Draco didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to let Potter off the hook, but Hermione was right—there was no way Potter was smart enough to trick the cup.

“Come on, Draco, I really don’t want to argue about this. I already spent half of today trying to convince Ron that Harry didn’t do it,” Hermione said tiredly.

“Ron thinks he did it?”

“I don’t know—I think he’s just upset. He’ll get over it, but they’re both too proud to talk to the other.”

“Well I did say that I hate agreeing with Weasley…” Draco trailed off, not entirely sure if he was admitting that he thought Potter might not have done it.

A smile spread across Hermione’s face and Draco knew it was instantly worth it. He smiled back, but the memory of Hermione whispering in Potter’s ear returned to his vision and his smile dropped.

“Are you and Potter...?”

The words were out of Draco’s mouth before he could stop them, but he trailed off, unsure of how to phrase it.

“Harry and I what?” Hermione asked, confused.

“Nevermind,” Draco said quickly.

Hermione gave him a bemused look. “Well, I really should go,” she said and Draco realised he was blocking the door.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Draco said, stepping aside.

“Bye,” she called as the door shut behind her.

Draco leant against the door, feeling like a complete idiot—what had he been thinking, asking Hermione that? At least he’d stopped himself—and the fact that she hadn’t realised where the question was going, while it didn’t really confirm anything, was enough to give Draco hope that he had misread the situation. He stood there for a minute, reliving their conversation, until he remembered why he had come there in the first place—because he’d snapped at Blaise and now he was furious with him. Draco sighed and raked a hand through his hair. He felt especially stupid now, realising he had probably been stressed over nothing.

Draco pushed himself off the door and, before he could talk himself out of it, walked back to the Slytherin dorms. As he expected, Blaise wasn’t there when he arrived. He sat on his bed and waited, determined to at least try to apologise. Blaise had been a decent friend last year, even when the rest of the house had ignored him. Plus he was the only person Draco had trusted enough to actually talk to about Pansy. Draco was furious at himself for possibly ruining their friendship over some stupid comment.

The rest of their dormmates filtered in over the next hour and all got ready for bed. Draco pulled out a book and sat in his bed with it, not particularly focused on it. The rest of his dorm got into bed and soon Draco’s lamp was the only light on. He shifted uncomfortably—he had never changed out of his robes. Sighing, Draco reached over and pulled his pajamas from his trunk. He crossed over to the bathroom and changed into them, starting to wonder if Blaise was going to stay out all night.

The door to the bathroom opened as Draco reached for his toothbrush and he turned to Blaise halfway through the door.

“Blaise!” Draco said, rushing forward.

Blaise began to shut the door, but Draco pulled it open.

“Just wait a minute!” he hissed, trying not to wake anyone.

Blaise stared at him coolly, but didn’t leave.

“I’m sorry, I really am—I was stupid and upset over something else entirely. I shouldn’t have said that—I didn’t mean it,” Draco said in a fast whisper.

“It’s careless to say things you don’t mean,” Blaise said, his voice icy.

“I know, it was careless and stupid and I shouldn’t have said it.”

Blaise stepped forward and shut the door.

“Did you really not mean it?” he asked, his eyes boring into Draco.

“Of course I didn’t! I told you, I was upset about something else and I just wanted to wallow in self-pity. It had nothing to do with you.”

“There’s a reason I don’t have many friends, Draco—most people irritate me or find me irritating. I did actually think you were my friend though, so if you’re just another person who’s irritated by me—”

“I’m not! You don’t irritate me—well you do, but I don’t mind it. Blaise, you’re my best friend.”

Draco didn’t realise how true the words were until he spoke them—Blaise really had become his best friend over the past year. He trusted him far more than he did Vincent or Greg. Blaise stared at him, a look of faint surprise on his face.

“Okay,” Blaise said slowly, “fine—I forgive you.”

“Really?” Draco asked, relieved.

“Truly. I do have one question though.”

“What?” Draco asked, quizzical.

“Why were you upset today?”

Draco stared—he hadn’t expected that question, yet, somehow he found himself answering honestly.

“I was upset about someone—someone I liked. I thought they might have been interested in someone else.”

“Who—Pansy? Trust me, she’ll get over being angry at you and go back to doting on you.”

“No, not Pansy,” Draco said slowly.

“Then who?”

Draco paused.

“I can’t say—it’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just—I hardly trust myself to speak it aloud.”

Blaise nodded slowly. “I understand.”

They stood in silence for a moment and Draco wondered whether it had been a mistake to tell Blaise.

“So are they?”

“Are they what?”

“Interested in someone else?”

“I don’t know—I don’t think so, now. Not that it matters really—I doubt she’d ever feel the same way.”

“Ah, the pains of young love,” Blaise said, a hint of humour returning to his voice.

Draco smiled and shook his head. As much of a risk it was to tell Blaise, Draco couldn’t help but feel happy to share even part of the truth.

\---

Draco didn’t expect to see Hermione again over the weekend and was surprised when she sat down only a couple of tables away from him in the library on Sunday morning. He cursed himself for not asking her to study in the dungeon classroom—they could actually talk to each other there. Instead, they ignored each other and sat doing their work quietly at their separate tables. Draco had been working for half an hour when he began to hear loud giggling from among the shelves. He sighed in annoyance—didn’t people know to be quiet in the library? After ten minutes of this, Draco dropped his quill in annoyance and turned to look at who was making the noise. Viktor Krum was looking at a bookshelf behind Draco and there was a group of girls giggling next to him, shooting him covetous looks from underneath their eyelashes.

Krum was glancing around, apparently looking for a way out that didn’t require him to walk past the group of girls. His eyes landed on Draco and, to Draco’s surprise, he walked over to him. Krum pulled out a chair beside him.

“May I sit?”

“Uh, yeah—go ahead.”

“Thank you—I cannot get away from them,” he said, jerking his head towards the girls. “I just wanted to read in peace.”

“No problem—I’m sure it’s annoying,” Draco said, imagining having a whole group of Pansys following him.

Krum opened the book he was holding and began to read. He looked up at Draco after a moment.

“You do not mind if I stay? Just until they leave.”

“Yeah, of course,” Draco said, not about to turn away an international Quidditch star.

Draco turned back to his work, trying not to think about how weird it was that he was doing his homework next to Viktor Krum. He wondered if Hermione had seen and looked up at her—she had her head down, close to her parchment and was writing furiously. Draco smiled at the look of concentration on her face—he recognised it from their time studying together and was sure nothing would disturb her now.

“Who is the girl you are looking at?” Krum asked and Draco snapped his head back to look at him. Krum was looking between him and Hermione. “Are you dating her? Why does she not study with you?”

“No, we’re not dating.”

“Oh—you look at her like you are.”

Draco didn’t know what to say to this.

“Do you want to be dating her?” Krum asked.

Draco wondered when Krum had gotten so chatty. He was about to brush it off and make up a lie, when he remembered how nice it had been to share part of the truth with Blaise. Krum was from another school—a whole other country, in fact. Talking to him wouldn’t get Draco into any trouble—it surely wouldn’t get back to his father.

“Yeah—if I could,” Draco admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

“Does she not feel the same way?”

“I don’t know—I’ve never asked. We’re friends, but—well, let’s just say my family wouldn’t approve of me befriending her, let alone dating her.”

“Ah,” said Krum.

“Yeah,” Draco said. “It sucks because she’s perfect—smart, kind, beautiful—and we have such great conversations. She’s the first girl I’ve ever really liked and it’s never going to happen.”

“I am sorry,” Krum said, “but I am sure you will find a girl your parents approve of. You are young.”

Draco nodded, unsure of what to say—he still couldn’t’ decide if it had been a good idea to tell Krum. It had felt good to say it out loud, as it had with Blaise, but Krum was so short that Draco didn’t particularly feel heard. He supposed that was just the way Krum was, however—he probably didn’t mean to be rude. Krum didn’t say anything more, so Draco took the conversation to be over and returned to his books. He glanced up occasionally to look at Hermione, the words he had spoken to Krum spinning in his mind. He couldn’t help but think that they weren’t good enough to describe her—no word could quite manage to express how wonderful Hermione Granger was.


	18. Dates and Disagreements

“Just ignore them, Harry,” Hermione said tensely as they walked past another group whispering and shooting angry looks at him.

“I am, Hermione,” he said tiredly.

Hermione fixed the group with a furious look and turned back to Harry. “It’ll blow over.”

“No it won’t—you know it won’t. Not while I still have to compete.”

Hermione couldn’t think of anything to say. It didn’t help that Ron chose that moment to walk past them, staring determinedly ahead. Harry’s face hardened and Hermione decided it wasn’t worth pushing the subject. She suspected Harry’s bad mood had much more to do with Ron’s refusal to believe him than the rumours—Harry had coped with gossip before, but he’d always had Ron to support him. Hermione knew only too well how Harry was feeling—it had been less than a year before that Harry and Ron hadn’t been speaking to her.

Hermione was trying her best to not pick a side in Harry and Ron’s fight, but she had found herself spending most of her time with Harry. Ron had Fred and George and the other Gryffindor fourth years, but Harry didn’t have anyone else to turn to. Hermione had caught Ron watching her and Harry a few times, a sour expression on his face, but he hadn’t said anything to her. Though Hermione and Ron hadn’t fought about it, Ron’s refusal to believe Harry hadn’t put his name in the goblet of fire was becoming a constant sticking point in their friendship.

They turned down the stairs to the dungeons and Hermione saw Harry’s scowl deepen—the only thing that could make his current mood worse was potions. As they reached the classroom, Hermione noticed something that made her instantly want to turn around and pull Harry far away. Draco was standing with a crowd of Slytherins, a badge gleaming on his chest, reading ‘Support Cedric Diggory, the real Hogwarts Champion!’ Hermione tried to distract Harry before he noticed, but he was already squinting at them.

“Like them Potter? And this isn’t all they do—look!” Draco pressed his badge as he spoke and the message changed to read ‘Potter stinks’.

Hermione felt sick—she didn’t know if she felt worse about the look on Harry’s face or the fact that it was Draco that was causing it. The Slytherins were laughing loudly and Hermione could see Harry losing patience.

“Oh, very funny—really witty,” Hermione said, looking at Pansy rather than Draco—she didn’t want to look at him and question if he meant what he was saying.

“Want one, Granger?” Draco called out and Hermione felt herself flush—she had to look at him now.

“I’ve got loads,” he was saying, without meeting her eye, “but don’t touch my hand now. I’ve just washed it you see; don’t want a Mudblood sliming it up.”

Hermione didn’t have time to feel hurt—Harry had pulled out his wand before she could react and any thoughts of her own feelings were cast out of her mind as she tried to stop him.

“Harry!” she cried out, trying to draw his attention away from Draco for long enough to calm him down.

Harry’s stare was fixed on Draco, who was drawing his own wand, taunting Harry. He’d cried out a spell before Hermione could stop him and she heard Draco yell something at the same time. The jets of light bounced off each other and Hermione hardly had time to notice one headed directly for her before she felt it slam into her. It was as though someone had punched her in the mouth. Hermione lifted her hand as pain shot through her face. She felt something odd and realised with horror that her front teeth were growing rapidly. Ron was running toward her and he pulled her hand away from her face, staring in shock. Hermione let out a cry as the pain increased—it seemed to get worse the more they grew.

From somewhere behind her, Hermione heard the sound of Snape entering the corridor and a rush of voices began battling to explain what had happened. She was hardly paying attention, still trying to cover her teeth and thinking desperately of how best to stop it. She looked up when she heard her name—Ron was trying to show Snape what Draco had done to her.

“I see no difference,” Snape said, coldly.

Hermione let out another cry of pain and, unable to stand there and wait for Snape to do something, she ran from the corridor. She felt tears welling in her eyes as she ran and tried to will them away, but the pain was unbearable. She tried not to think about the fact that it was Draco who had cast the spell causing her so much pain—he hadn’t been aiming for her, there was no need to second guess. She felt worry pushing its way into her mind and shoved it away—she would talk to Draco after and find out exactly what he was doing. For now, she needed to get to the hospital wing.

\---

Madam Pomfrey fixed Hermione’s teeth quickly, but the headache from having them grow so long did not ease. The matron insisted Hermione take a headache potion and spend the rest of the day in the Hospital Wing. Hermione tried not to be furious, but she couldn’t help being annoyed at the thought of missing the rest of her lessons—though she didn’t mind not seeing Snape. Every time she thought of Snape’s cold words, she felt humiliated. She knew Draco hadn’t meant to hit her—or at least, she was fairly certain he hadn’t—but Hermione had always been self-conscious about her teeth and to have that pointed out by Snape was mortifying.

Hermione reached out to pick up the mirror Madam Pomfrey had left behind and peered at herself in the reflection—she hadn’t exactly planned on changing her appearance, but when Pomfrey said Hermione had to say when they were the right size, she had suddenly decided to just let her keep going. She’d asked her parents a few times if she could shrink them herself, but they hadn’t thought it was a good idea—they would probably be angry when they saw she had done it anyway, but she hoped they’d understand if she told them it was the result of a misfired spell. Hermione smiled and felt slightly odd—she couldn’t tell how noticeable the difference was. She tried to relax her smile. It was different, but she was happy with it—as long as it wasn’t incredibly noticeable to everyone else—she didn’t want to look like Eloise Midgen after she’d tried to jinx off her pimples.

“What are you here for, Mr Malfoy?”

Hermione’s head shot up and she dropped the mirror.

“Professor Snape sent me with the potions work Granger missed. He said she has to catch up by next lesson.”

Madam Pomfrey tutted, but allowed Draco in.

“Try to be quick, she needs rest. I’ll be in my office if you need anything, Miss Granger.”

Hermione smiled at the matron and turned to look at Draco. He was watching her uncertainly. He waited until he heard the door click to speak.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, Hermione, I was so stupid—I never meant for you to get hit, I—”

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean for the spell to hit me.”

Draco looked relieved.

“How are you?”

“I’m okay—Pomfrey stopped the spell but it gave me an awful headache so she wanted me to stay here for the rest of the day.”

“I didn’t know that was a side effect,” Draco said.

“Neither—makes sense though.”

“Did she say how long until it will get better?”

“No, but she said I don’t have to stay overnight so I’m sure it’ll clear up soon.”

“Okay, good.”

Draco fell silent and Hermione’s eyes fell to his badge. When she looked back up, his face had turned red.

“They’re ridiculous, I know.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“What were you going to say?”

Hermione paused.

“I was trying to decide whether I should ask.”

“My father sent me a letter as soon as he heard Potter had been entered into the tournament—he kept saying that I had to ‘make this right’ and ‘put Potter in his place’. I didn’t want to but—it doesn’t really feel like there’s a choice.”

“Were the badges his idea?”

“No, they were mine. I figured it would be enough to please Father without directly picking a fight. I’d hoped Potter would just ignore them, or decide he hates me even more.”

“I think he would have ordinarily, but he’s been dealing with this ever since he was selected—I think it just got to be too much. Calling me a Mudblood didn’t really help.”

“I know, I’m so sorry, I hate saying that about you—about anyone.”

“Why did you say it, then?”

“I don’t know—I really didn’t want you to be a part of it but the Slytherins have all been complaining about you as much as Potter. I think it’s because you’re supporting him. They were all making a fuss about how something should be done about you, as well as Potter. I figured if I beat them to the punch, then it wouldn’t be as bad—who knew what they would end up planning? I thought it would only be that—I never meant for you to get hit by the spell.”

“They really hate me that much?”

“They hate that Potter has anyone who would believe him—and at the moment it seems like it’s only you.”

“Right—well, hopefully this will be enough for them,” Hermione said, gesturing to her teeth.

“I think it will be.”

Hermione hesitated, unsure if she should ask the question on her mind.

“What?” Draco asked, picking up on her trepidation.

“Why did your father care so much that Harry was entered?”

Draco looked down at his hands.

“I don’t know—he hasn’t told me anything.”

“What do you suspect?” Hermione asked softly.

Draco looked back up at her, his expression unreadable.

“I think that there’s something happening. I don’t know what, but something feels different. Father is more serious—he’s always been like this, but it feels like it matters more now. I don’t know what it is—something just doesn’t feel right.”

“Do you think he’s planning something?”

“Maybe—or expecting. It feels like he’s preparing us.”

“Are you worried about it?”

“I don’t want to be—but I am. I just wish I knew why.”

Hermione nodded, unsure of what she could say to provide any comfort. Draco looked back down at the potions book he had brought with him.

“I should probably go over what Snape wanted you to do before next lesson—we finished our antidotes that we had been preparing and he said since you didn’t make yours, you needed to write an essay on why you chose the ingredients you did for the antidote and what the expected outcome of each would be.”

Hermione sighed.

“I wish I could have made the potion, I spent ages working on it. How long should the essay be?”

“Two rolls of parchment.”

“Before next lesson?”

“I know—he was in a horrible mood. Especially after Potter got called out to do an interview.”

“Harry had to do an interview?”

“For the Daily Prophet.”

“He would have hated that.”

“He didn’t look happy.”

Hermione began to ask Draco if Harry had come back to potions, when she was interrupted by the office door opening.

“Mr Malfoy, I think it is time for you to go. I am sure Miss Granger has an adequate understanding of the homework assigned—she needs rest now.”

“Fine by me,” Draco said harshly, snatching up his potions book and turning towards the door. He flashed her a quick smile when Pomfrey wasn’t looking and Hermione pulled the covers up to hide her own small smile.

\---

In the lead up to the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, Hermione was so busy helping Harry that she hardly had a chance to see or speak to Draco. The longest conversations they had were through slipped notes and looks that Hermione could only sometimes understand. The tension between Harry and Draco only grew as the first task drew closer, but Hermione couldn’t help noticing that Draco seemed to lack conviction. There hadn’t been any more fights, at least.

The night before the first task Hermione got only a few hours of sleep, staying up with Harry to make sure he knew the summoning charm. Before they parted for bed, she had assured him he would be fine the next day. She only hoped her voice hadn’t betrayed her nerves. Though she stayed positive with Harry, she found herself tossing in bed, picturing what would happen if the spell failed tomorrow.

Harry seemed entirely zoned out the next morning and he hardly seemed to hear most of the insults thrown his way. Hermione could hear him muttering the incantation for the summoning charm under his breath throughout their classes. Unable to think of any way to ease his worries, Hermione was careful to take extra notes for Harry to look at later. He looked so pale during lunch that Hermione was worried he might pass out. She was trying to persuade him to eat when McGonagall came over to tell Harry it was time to go to the arena.

“Good luck, Harry. You’ll be fine!” she said quickly as he stood up.

“Yeah,” he said, sounding distant.

Hermione watched after him, feeling nauseated—she tried not to think about the next time she would see him. She was so distracted that she didn’t notice Ginny sit down beside her until she spoke.

“Hermione?”

“Hm?” she said, turning around.

“You’re so nervous, you’d think you were competing today,” Ginny said, laughing.

“I’m just worried about him—this whole situation is wrong.”

“He’ll be okay—Dumbledore wouldn’t let anything happen. Besides, they bring in professionals for the task to keep it under control.”

“I know and I trust Charlie—” Hermione stopped suddenly, realising she wasn’t supposed to know Charlie was at Hogwarts—or anything about the first task. It was too late, however—Ginny was looking at Hermione with narrowed eyes.

“How do you know that?” she asked in a whisper.

“Harry found out but you can’t say anything!” Hermione replied quickly.

“You know I wouldn’t. Did Ron tell him?”

“Are you serious? He and Ron can hardly stand to be in the same room.”

Ginny shook her head. “He’ll get over it—Fred and George will make him see sense.”

“I hope so—I can’t stand them fighting.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Dumbledore announcing it was time to go to the Quidditch pitch for the first task. Hermione felt herself go pale as she stood up, thinking nervously of wherever Harry was waiting alone.

\---

Hermione ran to the champion’s tent as soon as she saw Harry walk off the pitch, hardly noticing Ron running behind her. It had been horrible watching Harry fight against the dragon—she’d felt certain that they had forgotten something, that the dragon would do something unexpected and Harry would be horribly injured. She had never felt so relieved when she saw Harry grab the egg and fly away from the dragon.

Hermione and Ron pushed through the tent opening to see Harry lying on a bed—evidently, Madam Pomfrey had just finished attending to him. Harry looked past Hermione to Ron, his face stony. Hermione suddenly felt nervous—her worry about Harry had made her briefly forget what had happened between him and Ron in the past few weeks.

“Harry, whoever put your name in that goblet—I—I reckon they’re trying to do you in!” Ron said suddenly.

“Caught on, have you? Took you long enough,” Harry said, still looking coldly at Ron.

Hermione tried to think of anything she could say to help the situation—she couldn’t stand them fighting. It only reminded her of the time the three of them had spent fighting in third year. Ron was looking at Harry uncertainly, apparently even more unsure of what to say than Hermione.

“It’s okay,” Harry said after a moment.

Hermione let out a sigh of relief, tears welling in her eyes. She tried to stop them, telling herself it was stupid, but they kept coming—the stress of watching Harry in the tournament and seeing him miserable for weeks had all built up.

“There’s nothing to cry about!” Harry said with alarm, which only made Hermione cry more.

“You two are so stupid!” she cried, running out of the tent—she felt too embarrassed to stay in there while she cried.

Hermione walked around to the back of the pitch, trying to calm herself as she did. She stood behind the stands, wiping her eyes and hoping no one would walk past. Somewhere behind her, she could hear the crowd yelling and realised they were calling out Harry’s scores. She felt guilty for not being with him to see them and made a mental note to ask him how he went later—she was sure he would have to get a high score, given his performance. Before long, she heard the rumble of the crowd exiting the stands, but made no effort to join them.

Hermione was happy to see Harry and Ron friends again and, while she and Ron had still been friends when he and Harry were fighting, it had been different. She’d spent the past few weeks worrying about what would happen if Harry were to get angry with her, leaving her with no friends again. Hermione had tried to push what had happened the year before from her mind, reminding herself that Harry and Ron had apologised, but part of her always worried that they may decide they didn’t want to be her friend after all. It was much easier to push those worries away when they were all getting along.

“Hermione?”

Hermione looked up suddenly and saw Draco watching her with concern. “Oh—hi.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to subtly wipe her face.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah—honestly,” she said, giving up trying to hide that she’d been crying, “I’ve just been stressed watching Harry being entered in the tournament and with Harry and Ron fighting.”

“They’re still fighting?”

“Not anymore—they just made up.”

“Then what are you upset about?”

“I’m not upset—I was just really worried about what would happen if they didn’t make up so I was relieved when they did.”

“Why were you worried? It’s their issue, not yours.”

“I know, but last year they both stopped speaking to me and I worry that I might do something to make it happen again.”

Draco’s face tensed. “It is not your fault that they were—that they stopped speaking to you.”

Hermione looked down, trying not to feel stupid—she knew it didn’t make sense to still worry about losing Harry and Ron’s friendship. She folded her arms tightly around herself, feeling self conscious.

“I don’t know, I just don’t want it to happen again—I don’t exactly have a lot of friends.”

“You have me.”

“I know—”

There was a shout from behind them and they both looked around nervously.

“I should probably go,” Draco said.

“Yeah—what were you doing here anyway?” Hermione had realised that her hiding spot behind the stands was in the opposite direction to the path back to the castle.

“I saw you run off with Weasley after Potter but then when they appeared without you, I thought I should check you were okay.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said, surprised he had noticed her missing.

There was another shout, closer this time—Draco waved and disappeared behind the stands. Hermione waited a moment and followed behind him towards the castle.

\---

Hermione sighed loudly, trying to ignore the giggling girls behind her. she didn’t know why Krum chose to spend all his time in the library, but it was infuriating—surely he had somewhere on that ship that he could read? The girls behind him giggled again loudly and Hermione looked up, irritated. Krum had decided to sit at the table beside hers today, leaving the gaggle of girls who followed him to hide behind the shelf closest to Hermione. As she looked back down at her books, she noticed Krum looking across at her and suddenly realised how obvious she had been making her annoyance. She blushed deeply and looked away—it wasn’t his fault that they were following him. She expected he was just as annoyed about it as she was.

Hermione tried to focus back on her books and block out the sounds of the girls behind her. Her focus was interrupted again, however, by someone pulling out the chair beside her. She looked up to see Viktor Krum gesturing to it.

“May I sit?”

Hermione stared for a moment, unsure if she had heard him properly.

“Um—of course, go ahead,” Hermione replied quickly, pulling her books aside.

“I am Viktor,” he said, offering his hand. Hermione was surprised that he introduced himself, given that everyone in the castle knew who he was. She couldn’t help but think his humility was charming.

“Hermione,” she replied, nervously reaching out to shake his hand.

“I am sorry about the noise,” he said, sitting down. “I get used to ignoring it, but it is annoying while you are studying.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, taken aback by his consideration, “but it’s not your fault. They ought to just say something and move on—or read a book.”

Krum laughed and Hermione blushed again. The girls fell silent and Hermione felt their eyes on her.

“I see you here a lot—you are often studying.”

“I like to keep up with my work and this is usually one of the best spots to study.”

“It is nice here—the library is much more extensive than ours.”

“Is it really? I thought Durmstrang would have a massive library.”

“We do, but there are only select books—the ones that are deemed most fitting. It is hard to find books on other topics.”

“Have you found the books you’re looking for here?”

“Some of them.”

“That’s good.”

“The books aren’t the only reason I come here.”

Hermione furrowed her brow.

“Why else would you come to the library?”

“Well—you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I noticed you when I was in here and you were so beautiful and intriguing—I wanted to speak to you, but I have been too nervous until today.”

“Oh,” was all Hermione managed to say—Viktor Krum was nervous to speak to her?

“I wonder if it would be too forward if I were to ask if you had a date to the Yule Ball?”

“No—no I don’t.”

“I am surprised—I felt certain someone would have already asked you.”

Hermione blushed and looked down at the table.

“Will you be my date?” Krum asked, moving his hand to cover hers, drawing Hermione’s eyes from her notes to their hands.

“I—yes. Yes, that would be lovely,” she said to their hands.

She looked back up to see him smiling and she realised she had not seen him smile before—his face was quite handsome.

“Thank you—I will hopefully see you here again soon.”

Hermione nodded as Krum stood up and walked out of the library, the giggling girls following behind him and shooting nasty looks at Hermione.

Hermione looked back down at her notes, hardly able to believe what had just happened. She stared around blankly for a moment, recalling their conversation. Krum had said he’d been coming to speak to her—he had been nervous to. He thought she was beautiful—so beautiful that he wanted her to be his date, even when he could have any girl that he wanted.

She squeezed her hand tight, recalling the feeling of his hand over hers—she had never had a boy hold her hand before. It had been nice. He’d said he wanted to see her again—that he hoped he would see her soon. Hermione pressed her hands to her face and tried to keep still. A handsome, older, clever boy had just asked her to the Yule Ball—she had a date.

Hermione shut her books, knowing she wouldn’t be able to concentrate any longer. She pushed them into her bag and walked giddily to the Gryffindor common room—she didn’t really know what you were supposed to do after a boy asked you on a date, but she desperately wanted to talk to someone about it. She was sure Harry and Ron would only tease her—it was times like this that Hermione really wished she had more girl friends. 

The portrait hole opened and she saw Ginny sitting by the fire, playing with Crookshanks. Hermione felt silly for not thinking of Ginny—she knew she could trust Ginny to keep this a secret and she certainly wouldn’t make fun of her.

“Ginny!” Hermione called across the room to her.

Ginny’s head snapped up, looking at Hermione with alarm. Hermione realised that several other people in the common room were now looking at her too. 

“Ginny, I need to talk to you,” she said, lowering her voice as she made her way over to her.

“What’s wrong?” Ginny asked, still looking concerned

“Nothing’s wrong, I just want to tell you something.”

“What?”

Hermione looked around nervously at the other people in the common room—she didn’t want this to get out and become the latest gossip. Krum would think she had said it to get attention and she was sure he wouldn’t like that.

“Can we talk privately?”

“There’s no one in my dorm—the others went to send an owl about dresses for the Yule Ball,” Ginny offered.

“Thanks—why didn’t you go with them?”

“Oh—Mum said she’d pick something out for me,” Ginny said, standing up.

Hermione followed her, feeling guilty as she realised the reason Ginny had chosen not to buy a new dress with her friends. Ginny led Hermione into her dorm room and sat on her bed. Hermione tried to think of something to say to make Ginny feel better about not being able to join her friends dress shopping, but Ginny had already moved on.

“So, what’s up?”

“Oh I—I uh—I just got asked to the Yule Ball,” Hermione said quickly, still hardly believing the words as she spoke them.

“Are you serious?” Ginny asked excitedly, “By who? I swear if it’s my idiot brother—”

“What? No, it’s not Ron. It was—it was Viktor Krum.”

“VIKTOR KRUM?”

“Yeah—Viktor Krum.”

“How the hell did that happen?”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“He’s an international Quidditch player and I’ve never even heard you _mention_ him—of course I’m surprised!”

Hermione laughed, realising Ginny was right.

“So what happened—how long has this been going on? Is this the reason you’ve been all mysterious and happy lately?”

“What? No, I only spoke to him for the first time today.”

“Oh—you’ve seemed different lately so I thought maybe...”

“No! I haven’t been seeing anyone—I mean I kept seeing him in the library but we never spoke until today.”

“So—what happened?”

“Well there was that group of girls following him and they were being so loud and annoying.”

“Bet Pince loved that.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t chase them out. Anyway Viktor—”

“VIKTOR? You call him Viktor?”

“What else am I supposed to call him?”

“I don’t know—so what did _Viktor_ do?”

“He came over and apologised about them being loud and then he told me he’d been in the library trying to work up the courage to speak to me and asked me to the ball.”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“What did you say?”

“Yes, obviously.”

“This is amazing.”

“It is a bit.”

“Ron will go berserk when he finds out.”

“I know—can you just keep it a secret for now? Harry and Ron will just tease me and I can’t deal with the rest of the school talking about me.”

“Of course—they’re all going to be so shocked when you turn up with him. I hope I can see it.”

Hermione had forgotten Ginny was a third year and only allowed to go to the ball if she had a date. She suddenly felt horrible for going on about her date when Ginny might not even be able to attend.

“I’m sorry, I forgot—”

“Don’t worry about it—I’ll find someone. If I don’t I want lots of pictures.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a date.”

“Maybe—I don’t know many people that would want to take a third year.”

“Is there someone you want to be your date?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Maybe…” Ginny said, blushing.

“Is it Harry?”

“Oh, Merlin, am I that obvious?”

“Not as much as you used to be,” Hermione said, trying not to laugh as she remembered how nervous Ginny used to get around Harry.

“Shut up!” Ginny said, hitting Hermione with a pillow.

“Okay, okay!” Hermione cried, pushing the pillow away.

“Damn, if I hadn’t been a total fool for two years, maybe I’d have a chance.”

“You still have a chance—you just need Harry to see you as someone other than his best friend’s sister.”

“You think?”

“Of course—you just need to let Harry see you when you’re being yourself. If you’re more natural around him things might change.”

“More natural?”

“Like you are with me—you’re never this talkative when Harry’s around. He doesn’t really know you because you’re always quiet around him, but I think if the two of you spoke more you’d get along really well.”  
  
“Easier said than done.”

“I know. It could even help if you focus on someone other than Harry for a while.”

“Someone other than Harry?”

“Yeah—there are so many guys at Hogwarts that would consider themselves lucky to date you, or go to the ball with you. Don’t put your life on hold for Harry—get to know some other guys and let Harry notice you on his own.”

“Do you really think that’ll work?”

“I don’t know—but if it doesn’t, then you’ve still had the opportunity to get to know some other guys and haven’t wasted all your time on Harry."

Ginny considered this for a moment.

“Thanks, Hermione.”

Ginny reached over and picked up a magazine from her bedside table and tossed it to Hermione.

“You better start looking at dresses if you’re going to be Viktor Krum’s date,” she teased.

Hermione smiled and picked up the magazine, flipping absent-mindedly through possible dresses. She couldn’t quite focus—her mind kept drifting back to her conversation with Viktor in the library. She could still hardly believe that out of every girl in the castle, he had asked her to the Yule Ball. In the very back of her mind, Ginny’s comment about having thought Hermione was seeing someone was lingering, but Hermione ignored it—she hadn’t been seeing anyone, no matter what Ginny had thought. Ginny had been mistaken—what could Hermione have been mysteriously happy about lately when Harry was facing the Triwizard Tournament? She pushed the thought aside and turned her mind back to Viktor—she had a date to think about.


	19. Rumours and Rivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for homophobic language.

_“You use your real voice with those you love, and you cannot be phoney with those who know you well.”_

_Frederick Buechner_

It was a week since McGonagall announced the Yule Ball and Draco still had not found a date—something Greg and Vincent had been quick to point out, though Draco didn’t understand how they could laugh at him when neither had dates for themselves. Draco had been carefully avoiding Pansy, who suddenly seemed ready to forgive him and make up—something that Draco was not as excited about. He could only think of one person who he wanted to ask to the Yule Ball, though he knew it was impossible. He had hardly had a chance to speak to Hermione since the first task—ever since Harry and Ron had made up, she had been busy with both of them. Draco tried not to be jealous, but he couldn’t help being upset when he saw how easy it was for the three of them to be together. He and Hermione could never be that comfortable talking publicly—and he certainly couldn’t ask her to the ball.

Draco knew that he would most likely have to ask Pansy to the ball—his parents would ask too many questions if he didn’t. As far as they knew, he and Pansy were just about engaged. He couldn’t quite bring himself to ask her, however, hoping desperately that a solution to his problems would present itself before the ball. He doubted Pansy would be asked by anyone else—or that she would say yes if she was. He knew it was horrible to lead her on by asking her to be his date, but he felt as though he had no choice.

Draco spent most of their Transfiguration lesson trying to talk himself into asking Pansy—she was starting to get more passive aggressive in her advances and he thought it may be better to get it over with. He hardly paid attention to McGonagall’s reminders at the end of the lesson and jotted down the homework from the board without paying attention to what it was. When the bell rang, he shoved his things into his bag and hurried from the room before Pansy could reach him.

He hurried out of the classroom and had nearly rounded the corner when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Hoping it wasn’t Pansy, he turned around cautiously. He was surprised to see Blaise, holding up his quill.

“You forgot this.”

“Oh—thanks,” Draco said, reaching for it.

Laughter broke out from behind Blaise and Draco peered around him to see Vincent and Greg watching them and cackling loudly.

“Alright?” Draco called out to them, raising his eyebrows.

“Course,” Greg said and whispered something to Vincent. They both doubled over with laughter.

Draco stepped around Blaise and stared at them.

“What’s going on with you two?”

“Nothing,” Vincent between wheezes. “We were just saying it’s so lovely that your boyfriend carries your things for you.”

Draco stared incredulously, certain he had heard them wrong. “Excuse me?”

“We couldn’t figure out why you’d want to hang out with that prick all the time but it makes sense now why you like dicks.” Greg sneered.

Vincent and Greg broke into loud guffaws, clearly impressed with his clever joke.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Draco asked, stepping forward angrily. Before he could reach for his wand, however, Blaise gripped his arm, pulling him back.

“Don’t insult your intelligence, Draco—I think their comments, though vile, are rather clear.”

Draco shrugged his arm out of Blaise’s grip and stormed past him, walking until he couldn’t hear the sound of their laughter anymore. He heard Blasie begin to follow him, but somewhere along the way he lost him—Draco was too furious to find him. He pushed past the hordes of students leaving their classrooms and didn’t stop until he reached an empty corridor. He had no idea where Greg and Vincent had gotten the idea that he was gay, or that he was dating Blaise, but he knew it wasn’t good. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t true—if it got back to his parents, his father would be furious. He knew his father wouldn’t care if it was all made up—he would say it was Draco’s fault for allowing such a rumour to circulate and to damage the Malfoy name.

Draco leant against a wall and tried to catch his breath. It wouldn’t take much for his father to hear of it—all that was needed was for Vincent or Greg to mention it in a letter to one of the parents. He knew he needed to shut down the rumour—but how exactly could he do that? He had no idea where it came from—sure, he could intimidate Greg and Vincent into forgetting it, but who else knew? He’d probably have to ask them where they heard it from and go down the chain of gossip. Draco felt a cold wave of dread as he realised the only way he could really prove it wasn’t true would be to avoid Blaise. He hoped desperately he another solution would present itself—Blaise had felt like his only real friend recently, aside from Hermione. He didn’t feel willing to give that up.

Deciding it was best to find Vincent and Greg and shut down the rumour before it spread further, Draco pushed himself off the wall and turned in the direction of the Slytherin Common room, walking much slower than he had before. He didn’t feel a sense of urgency to find them, despite knowing he needed to. He reached the common room sooner than he had hoped and was grateful to see that none of the Slytherins there seemed to be whispering about him—at least it hadn’t spread too far yet. He crossed the common room to the Slytherin dorms, unsure if he wanted them to be in there or not. Before he could decide, he had reached the dorm and found it empty. For the first time since he had stormed off, Draco wondered what had happened to Blaise. He sat down on his bed for a moment but couldn’t sit still—he had just decided to go out and find Blaise when Vincent and Greg walked in. They stopped when they saw him.

“Hello,” Draco said coldly.

“Where’s your—”

“Oh, shut up—I don’t know where you wankers got the idea I’m gay, but it’s fucking ridiculous. Let me make this very clear—if I hear another whisper about this, you will both regret it.” Draco rolled his wand lightly in his hand as he spoke, making his threat clear—a move he had learnt from Blaise.

“Calm down, Draco—it’s a joke,” Greg said, rolling his eyes. “You’d think you really were a—”

“I’m not finished. Joke or not, you know what would happen if this got back to my father—and I’m pretty sure neither of yours would be too happy if they heard a rumour like that. Seems like a lot to risk for a fucking joke.”

Greg and Vincent exchanged nervous looks—apparently they had not considered this.

“You might want to grow the fuck up—it’s not even a funny joke.”

“What are you—defender of the gays?” Vincent asked, annoyed.

“No—I’m just a decent fucking person, you assholes.”

Draco pushed past them and out of the dormitory, too furious to stay in the same room with them. He began to walk around the castle, aimlessly at first, before he remembered his plan to find Blaise. He had thought Blaise would laugh it off and make a joke about Greg and Vincent’s lack of intelligence, but he’d disappeared. Draco wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, but he felt he needed to find his friend to make sure he was alright—his family would be just as upset if any rumours got back to them.

He found Blaise in a corridor that was hardly used by students, sitting alone against a pillar. Draco walked up to him, unsure if Blaise wanted his company. He didn’t say anything when Draco approached, but moved aside for Draco to sit beside him.

“I couldn’t keep up with your furious pace,” Blaise said.

“Sorry—I didn’t really think about you following.”

“Well it probably would have only convinced those imbeciles more of our wondrous affair.”

“I must have missed when that happened.”

“I heard it was marvellous.”

“I told them to shut up about it.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“They’re twats, but I don’t think it’ll be spreading any further. I just wish I knew who started it so I could tell them to shut up too.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious who started it.”

“Really?”

Blaise stared at him flatly.

“Who do we know who is insanely jealous and currently pissed off because you haven’t invited her to the ball?”

“Oh,” Draco said, shifting uncomfortably.

“Exactly.”

“Well hopefully she’ll listen if I ask her to stop.”

“Does it really bother you that much?”

“What do you mean? I don’t want this spreading any further.”

“I’m sure your mystery crush will still love you.”

“What? No, it’s not just—”

Blaise sighed loudly and rolled his eyes at Draco.

“Draco, you’ll be fine, so stop worrying about it. It’s not as though _you’re_ gay.”

Draco stared at Blaise for a moment. “What do you mean, it’s not as though _I’m_ gay?”

“Well you’re pretty clearly not.”

“I meant why did you place the emphasis on me not being gay?”

“Fuck, Draco, I don’t know—it’s just words.”

“Okay—you do know I don’t have an issue with being gay, right? I just panicked about what would happen if my parents were to hear a rumour like that.”

“Well at least _you_ can say it isn’t true.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Putting emphasis on me.”

“I don’t know what you want.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Then stop asking.”

“Okay—sorry.”

“I have to go,” Blaise said suddenly, pushing himself off the wall and walking out of the corridor.

Draco stared after him, unsure what to make of their conversation. He didn’t particularly feel like going back to the common room, or talking to anyone at the moment. Part of him had suspected that Pansy was the source of this rumour, but he hoped she wouldn’t be—it was already hard enough to convince himself to ask her to the ball. This made it virtually impossible. Draco stayed in the corridor until dinner, when his loudly rumbling stomach compelled him to move.

Blaise wasn’t at dinner, nor was he in the common room when Draco returned there afterwards. He ignored everyone in the common room and went straight to the dorm, hoping to find Blaise. The dorm was empty again, but this time Draco didn’t leave to find Blaise—he knew Blaise had more hiding places around the castle than Draco could ever find. He would speak to him when he came back—he’d have to at least be back in the dorm by curfew.

Draco sat on his bed and pulled out his schoolwork, deciding the best way to distract himself would be to get some homework done. He worked through his homework for the next couple of hours, moving only to shut the curtains around his bed when his dormmates came in. After some time, he looked at his watch and realised it was past curfew. He could hear the sounds of his dormmates getting ready for bed and peeked out of the curtains to look for Blaise. His bed was empty and he was still missing from the room. Draco shut the curtains again and lay back down, listening as the others got into bed. He didn’t hear any of them ask where Blaise was.

The dorm fell silent and Draco put his homework away and laid down. He couldn’t go to sleep yet, his mind still whirring from the afternoon’s events. Anytime he let it rest, he began to think about having to speak to Pansy and the possibility of going to the ball with her—or finding another girl his parents approved of in the next week. After several minutes, Draco stood up and pushed his curtains aside, deciding to go look for Blaise. He knew he would risk getting caught after curfew, but he couldn’t help worrying about Blaise—it wasn’t like him to stay out this late.

Draco slowly crept out of the dorm and into the common room. He thought it was empty at first, but noticed someone sitting by the fireplace.

“Blaise?”

Blaise glanced at Draco and turned to look back at the fire without saying anything. Draco walked towards him and sat down on the couch.

“Aren’t you afraid of what people will think if they see you with me?” Blaise asked, his voice lacking any of its usual sarcastic air.

“Come on Blaise, you know that’s not what I meant—I was worried about my family hearing it. My father would be furious at me for even allowing it to be a rumour.”

Blaise didn’t say anything and continued to stare into the fire, his eyes unfocused.

“I can go if you don’t want me here,” Draco said, uncertain.

Blaise ignored him again. Draco sighed and stood up, turning back towards the dorms.

“Wait,” Blaise said softly.

Draco stopped and turned back to look at Blaise, who still hadn’t taken his eyes off the fire. “Yeah?” he prompted.

“I don’t want you to go—I just don’t know how to talk right now.”

Draco nodded and sat back down beside Blaise. After a moment, Blaise tore his eyes away from the fire and looked at him.

“I’m sorry—I know why you were upset and I wasn’t angry at you. I’m just so angry at everyone—why does this have to be some big, horrible thing? Why is being gay the absolute worst thing to be?”

“I can think of worse.”

“Yeah? Maybe let your girlfriend know.”

Draco winced.

“Fuck, I’m sorry—I keep fucking this up but I am trying to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Draco asked softly.

Blaise stared into the fire again, his face tense. He rubbed his knees absent-mindedly and gritted his teeth before looking back to Draco. He breathed in deeply and fixed Draco with a steady gaze.

“I’m trying to tell you that I’m—I’m gay.”

Draco nodded slowly, trying to think of the right thing to say—Blaise was still watching him closely.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay? That’s all you’re saying?”

“What should I say?”

“I don’t know—I haven’t exactly had experience with this.”

“You haven’t told anyone?”

“Nope—you’re the first.”

“Wow—thanks.”

“You’re most welcome. Thanks for not being a prat about it.”

“You take all the fun out of being a prat.”

“I try.”

Draco shook his head and they settled into a comfortable silence. After a moment, Draco broke it.

“Um...so—is there anyone that’s caught your eye?” he asked hesitantly.

“Are you asking me if I have a boyfriend?”

“I think so?”

“That’s your first question?”

“I’m sorry—I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to ask.”

“That’s okay—I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to say.”

“So, do you?”

“No—unfortunately there aren’t a lot of dating options for the closeted.”

“Oh—well is there someone that you would want to—you know, if you were out?”

“You are terrible at this—and no, unfortunately the only boy I thought I might be able to stand turned out to be hopelessly in love with a girl.”

“Who?”

“A story for another time, darling.”

Draco rolled his eyes and they returned to silence.

“Look, I’m going to try to talk to Pansy,” Draco said, trying to convince himself of it as much as Blaise.

“A dangerous decision.”

“I’m sure it is—but it’s not fair for her to say that anyone’s gay. You should come out on your own terms.”

“How noble of you.”

“Shut up.”

“No, you’re really my knight in shining armour.”

“Keep saying stuff like that and you won’t need to come out.”

“Ouch.”

“Too far?”

“I’ll allow it this once—but only because you haven’t been a prick about this whole thing.”

“Did you really think I would be?”

“I don’t know—it’s not exactly news people want to hear.”

“People are stupid—why does everyone care so much about what other people do?”

“If I had the answer to that question my life would be a lot easier.”

“Yeah.”

Blaise paused for a moment, before speaking tentatively. “Do you really mean that you’ll speak to Pansy?”

“If she talks to me.”

“How could she resist your charm?”

“Shut up.”

“And such sophistication.”

Draco rolled his eyes at Blaise and shoved him with his shoulder.

“So if your brief dalliance with Pansy has fizzled,” Blaise said slowly. “Whoever shall you ask to the Yule Ball?”

“Well, I suppose I can always ask you.”

“As flattered as I am, that may not help dispel the rumours of our affair.”

“You may have a point.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I’m deciding how to answer.”

“You’re not going to ask your mystery crush?”

Draco paused, thinking his answer through carefully.

“I don’t think I can—I have no idea if she feels the same and even if she did—it just wouldn’t work.”

“So negative.”

“I prefer honest.”

“If I can’t have my own tragic love story, can’t I live vicariously through yours?”

“Nope—I can’t even live it.”

“That makes it all the more tragic.”

Draco laughed softly.

“If you want tragic, then you’ll be delighted to hear I’m most likely going to the ball with Pansy.”

“That is tragic.”

“It was hard enough to convince myself to ask her before, but now…”

“I promise I won’t get offended if you allow me to make fun of you.”

“That seems like a terrible deal.”

“Seems good from my end.”

“Well, as long as you’re happy.”

“How sweet.”

“I try.”

“You two will make a darling couple,” Blaise said, smirking.

“Fuck off.”

“What was that about trying to be sweet?”

“I gave up.”

“I’m devastated.”

“At least you don’t have to go to the ball with Pansy.”

“I don’t think she’d permit me to ask.”

“She doesn’t like you much.”

“Probably because you prefer me over her.”

Draco shoved him and they both laughed. Draco didn’t particularly feel like returning to their dorm, so when Blaise started listing off all the ways Pansy had tried to get Draco to ask her out, Draco leant back and let him, trying not to think about the fact that he would have to speak to her tomorrow.

\---

Draco woke up the next morning with a plan fully formed in his mind. He decided to find Pansy before breakfast and talk her out of spreading the rumour any further, but he wouldn’t ask her to the ball. There were four other Slytherin girls in their year and he would ask one of them instead—if all else failed, he felt certain any third year Slytherin would be happy to be invited, given they couldn’t attend otherwise.

She seemed to be missing from the common room when he reached it, but as he turned toward the portrait hole he saw Pansy closing it as she left. Draco hurried forward to catch up and caught her halfway down the hallway.

“Pansy!” he called from behind her, trying to get her attention. She turned and stared at him nervously.

“Hello, Draco,”

“Hi—can we talk?”

“Of course—I was going to breakfast, do you want to join?”

“I’d prefer if we could talk privately.”

“Oh—did you want to go somewhere?” she asked, smiling in a way that Draco did not like.

“No! Here is fine,” he said quickly.

Pansy looked annoyed but didn’t leave.

“So, what do you want?”

“I wanted to ask you about something,” Draco started, hesitantly.

“Yes?” Pansy prompted.

“Well, there’s been a rumour circulating that—ah—that Blaise and I are—well—together.”

“Oh?” said Pansy, in a poor attempt at surprise.

“I don’t exactly know who started it, but could you not spread it? And maybe tell people it isn’t true? It’s just my parents will get upset if they hear it.”

“You know I could try, but I think people would need proof that it’s not true.”

“Proof? What do you mean?”

“I mean, I could tell people that it’s not true but would they really believe it if you didn’t go to the ball with a girl?”

“I’m planning on going with a girl.”

“I don’t think you can go with just any girl—I think that you would need to go with someone in particular for it to seem convincing.”

Draco stared at Pansy, realising the trap he had fallen into. She hadn’t spread the rumour because she was angry at him—she’d spread it to force him back to her.

“What are you saying?” he asked, trying to keep the anger from his voice.

“I’m saying that if you take anyone else to the Yule Ball, it will be very difficult for me to stop this rumour—in fact, it will probably just spread further and further. But if you were to take me, well, it may just be convincing enough that people forget all about that silly piece of gossip.”

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, trying to ignore the frustration he felt—he knew he had to go along with Pansy’s plan, for Blaise’s sake.

“Pansy?”

“Yes?”

“Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?” Draco asked through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I’d love to! Would you like to join me for breakfast?”

It didn’t feel like much of a request. Draco nodded and followed after her, trying to block out the sounds of Pansy talking about how they would look together at the ball.

\---

“You owe me at least ten chocolate frogs,” Draco said, adjusting his robes.

“Only if you let me get them from your stash,” Blaise joked without looking away from the mirror.

“I’ve been trying to avoid her all day but I swear she’s everywhere. Thank Merlin she left a few hours ago to get ready.”

“I am eternally grateful to you for sacrificing yourself for me.”

Draco snorted disbelievingly. “At least come up with a plan to rescue me—I can’t stand spending the whole night with her.”

“I’ll try but it may be difficult to break up such a cute couple.”

Draco threw his dress shoe at Blaise, who flicked it away with his wand and continued straightening his tie.

“You’re trying pretty hard for a bloke who doesn’t have a date,” Draco commented, watching him.

“I’m hoping to send off just the right energy that some dashing closeted chap will decide he simply cannot resist me and that we must begin our marvellous affair.”

“Glad to hear you’re being realistic.”

“If you can dream about asking out your mystery crush, then I can dream about my mystery man.”

Draco blushed deeply—he’d been trying not to think about Hermione. The last time he had ended in him agonising over whether she would have a date and if that would mean that he officially had no chance.

“Come back to earth Draco, we have a ball to attend.”

Draco looked at his watch and sighed—it was time to meet Pansy and the rest of the Slytherin fourth years in the common room. He hoped that by attending as a group, he wouldn’t have to spend so much time alone with Pansy. He and Blaise walked to the common room together—the rest of their dormmates had already left to meet the fourth year girls.

“Draco!” Pansy squealed as he turned the corner.

She ran over to him and wrapped her arms around him. Draco shot a look at Blaise, who looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

“You almost made us late!” Pansy said, swiping his arm playfully. “Hurry, we have to go!”

Draco nodded and followed after her. Pansy was so chatty on the way to the Great Hall that Draco hardly had to talk. It made it easy for him to look around for Hermione. He thought he was being subtle until he caught Blaise’s eye, who was watching him with a knowing look. Draco stopped searching for a moment, not sure if he was ready for Blaise to know who he was looking for. He certainly trusted Blaise and he knew that he would never tell anyone, given what he had already shared with Draco, yet he felt as though telling someone who knew him made it too real. It had been easy to tell Krum, when he knew there would be no consequences, but telling Blaise would be something different entirely.

“Draco!” Pansy’s shrill voice broke through his thoughts.

“Huh?” he asked, still thinking about Hermione.

“I asked if you like my robes?”

Draco turned and looked at her—she was wearing shocking pink robes that were a bit too frilly for Draco’s taste, but he ignored that and tried to smile pleasantly.

“They look lovely,” Draco said. “ _You_ look lovely,” he corrected himself when she continued to stare at him.

“Draco, you’re so sweet,” she crooned.

Blaise mimed throwing up behind her back.

Draco turned around, trying to hide his laughter from Pansy and froze. The students from Durmstrang had just arrived, with Krum leading them—and holding Krum’s arm was a girl so breathtaking, Draco couldn’t help but stare. He had thought Hermione was beautiful for some time, but now, as he saw others’ eyes shifting toward her, he knew that everyone else had noticed it too.

McGonagall called something and Hermione moved towards her with Krum—Draco had been so caught up in Hermione that he had hardly noticed who she was standing with. But she was with Krum, holding his arm in the same way Pansy was clinging to his. He recalled his conversation with Krum in the library—was it purely an accident that he asked her out after that, or did Krum find some sick pleasure in asking out girls that other guys liked?

He felt Pansy pulling on his arm and realised it was time to move into the Great Hall. He had to walk directly past Hermione to go into the hall. Pansy finally noticed her as they walked past and openly stared in disbelief—Draco tried his best to keep his eyes trained ahead, but he couldn’t help looking at her. Their eyes met briefly and Draco dropped his gaze, terrified she would look into his eyes and know what he felt.

The Slytherin fourth years found a table together and sat to watch the champion’s entrance. He tried his best to join in the conversation around him, but his eyes kept flicking to the door, wondering what Hermione was doing on the other side. He could hardly believe she had agreed to be Krum’s date—the guy was eighteen and clearly too old for a fourteen year old. Draco hated to think of the reasons why he would want to go to the ball with someone four years younger than him.

The doors opened and the champions walked in. Draco tried not to look too closely at Hermione, but he couldn’t quite stand to watch Potter attempt to walk in a straight line and found his eyes kept drifting back to her. The champions sat at the top table and Draco watched sulkily as Hermione and Krum sat down and began talking. Hermione laughed about something and Draco looked away, feeling pained. He noticed Blaise watching him as he looked away—he raised his eyebrow questioningly and Draco flushed and looked at his plate, hoping Blaise hadn’t just noticed who he was looking at.

He tried to make conversation with Pansy as they ate dinner and was careful to avoid looking at Hermione or Blaise again. Dinner seemed to drag on, but they finally finished and turned to watch as the Weird Sisters entered the stage and began to play. The champions were the first to the dance floor—Draco had heard it was tradition for them to begin the dancing at the Yule Ball. There was a sour taste in his mouth as he watched Krum and Hermione dance. Krum reached down to whisper something in Hermione’s ear and he looked away.

He couldn’t tell if he was more jealous or angry—most likely a mix of both. He knew there was a chance of seeing Hermione with someone else tonight and he had tried to prepare himself, but seeing her so happy with Krum made his stomach twist uncomfortably. He couldn’t help but be furious with Krum—he had trusted him enough to share his secret and now Krum was dancing with Hermione. He didn’t even want to think about the reasons he had asked out Hermione—a girl significantly younger than him—but Draco doubted he had honest intentions.

“Shall we dance?” Pansy said, leaning far too close to speak to him.

Draco knew he would have to dance with her at some point and decided to get it over with quickly—maybe he could feign a sickness later and leave early. He followed Pansy to the dance floor and was thankful the next song was fast—he couldn’t quite stomach the idea of having to slow dance with Pansy.

He stayed with her for a few songs, before making an excuse about getting them drinks. He knew it meant he would have to return to her, but even a few moments alone would be a relief. To his annoyance, he noticed that Viktor Krum was already at the table when he approached. Krum turned to look at him and smiled like they were old friends.

“Hello,” he said, as Draco walked past him to the punch bowl.

Draco took a breath and turned around.

“Hi.”

“I see you got over your little crush—this works well for me!” Krum chuckled and looked at Pansy.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Excuse me?”

“I told you that in confidence—do you understand what trouble I could get into if anyone found out?”

“What does it matter? You are with someone else now.”

“I’m not with her—she’s just my date.”

“Ah—well I am with Hermione.”

“Good for you,” Draco said dully, trying to turn back to the punch bowl.

“Yes it is—I would have never noticed if you had not pointed out all the ways she is lovely.”

Draco tried not to show his disgust on his face. “Do you have some thing about going after girls who other blokes are interested in?”

“If you were really interested, you would have asked her first. I checked if she had any other date and she said no—if you did not ask her it is your fault.”

“Couldn’t you have asked someone else? You knew I liked her.”

“I could have, but after you told me about how smart and kind and beautiful she was, I thought she might be nice to talk to. I especially noticed after watching her in the library.”

“Watching her? What the hell?”

“What is so wrong with that? You were doing the same.”

“She’s my friend—you were some stranger watching her study.”

“And now you are watching her while she is my date.”

“You’re disgusting,” Draco spat and he pushed past Krum, walking towards the Entrance Hall.

Once he was out the doors, he didn’t particularly know where to go. He walked outside to the grounds, ignoring the cold. He noticed a few couples had already decided to go out to the grounds for some privacy and stormed past them.

“Draco,” a voice called from behind him.

Draco kept walking but slowed for Blaise to catch up. Blaise fell into step beside him and Draco continued to walk, without any real sense of direction. He knew he wanted to walk far enough that all the fairies Flitwick had used to decorate would be out of sight—he didn’t feel like listening to their chatter. He stopped when he could only hear the sounds of their footsteps and the rustling of trees around them.

“Draco?” Blaise asked again, his voice cautious.

“Yes?” Draco sounded tenser than he had hoped.

“Why did you just storm away from Viktor Krum?”

“Fuck,” Draco said, panicking and turning around quickly. “Did everyone see?” he asked, running his fingers through his hair nervously.

“I don’t think so—I tend to notice more than other people. Though I suspect Pansy is wondering where you are with the drinks you promised.”

Draco nodded, not really caring about what Pansy thought.

“You know, I never really understood why girls find Krum attractive. Sure he’s famous, but he’s a bit funny looking, don’t you think?”

Draco stared at him, not in the mood to joke, even at Krum’s expense. Blaise sighed.

“Can I ask, Draco?”

“Go ahead,” he said after a moment, his voice tired.

“This crush you’ve been harbouring—is it Hermione Granger?”

Draco clenched his jaw and stared determinedly at the ground between his and Blaise’s feet.

“Yes.”

Blaise kicked his foot and Draco looked up at him.

“I looked you in the eyes when I came out—surely you can look at me when talking about your straight crush.”

Draco tried to laugh, but it sounded strangled. Blaise looked at him in concern.

“Have you ever even spoken to her? Or is this a love from afar situation?”

“We’ve been friends for the past year,” Draco said, resignedly, figuring there was no point hiding it now.

“A year? That’s an impressive secret.”

“It would have been if I hadn’t told Krum.”

“Just then? Is that what you argued about?”

“No, a few weeks ago—apparently I made her sound so lovely that he just had to ask her to the Yule Ball.”

“Fuckwit.”

This time Draco did manage to laugh—then he remembered what Krum had said about Hermione and fell silent.

“You know what he said? He said he’s been watching her and that’s how he knew he wanted to ask her out. Isn’t that fucked up? An eighteen year old watching a fourteen year old he doesn’t know until he decides he wants to date her?”

Blaise shook his head. “Fuckwit and a creep.”

Draco nodded in agreement.

“It’s just—I knew she might come with someone and I know I shouldn’t be angry because I brought a date too, but I don’t even want to be here with Pansy and she’s there clearly having the time of her life with him.”

“As much as I hate to compliment a Gryffindor, there’s no denying she is smart—she’ll realise he’s no good.”

“Doesn’t matter though—I could never be with her.”

“Perhaps—but let’s not rule it out tonight.”

Draco looked back towards the castle. “I really don’t want to go back and deal with Pansy.”

“Go to the dorms—I’ll tell her you fell ill.”

“Will she fall for that?”

“You don’t look too good, so she might.”

Draco shoved Blaise half-heartedly.

“Go back to the dorms and eat those chocolate frogs I’m going to give you later—save one for me though.”

Draco shook his head and began walking back to the castle. They didn’t talk anymore as they passed other people walking the grounds. Draco waved goodbye at the Entrance Hall and turned towards the dungeons, ready for the miserable night to be over.

\---

Draco was woken the next morning by a sudden burst of sunshine as the curtains around his bed were pulled aside. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, disoriented. After a moment he noticed Blaise smiling at him through the open curtains.

“Morning,” he said, cheerfully.

Draco looked at Blaise, unimpressed.

“Why am I awake?”

“Sorry, but I thought you might want to know that Pansy is very concerned about your health and is most likely planning on spending the day looking after you.”

Draco scrambled out of bed.

“I can’t deal with her today—is she in the common room?” Draco asked, panicked.

“I don’t think she’s awake yet—I thought I’d give you the chance to get out before she found you.”

“Thanks,” Draco said, rummaging through his trunk for his clothes. “So she bought it, then?”

“I can be very convincing.”

“Right,” Draco said, running to the bathroom to change. He emerged a moment later, checking his watch.

“She might be up, can you check for me?”

“Of course, your highness.”

Blaise disappeared and Draco sat on his bed for a moment, trying not to think about the previous night. He’d pretended to be asleep when his dormmates had returned from the ball, but he had not slept until much later—his mind had been too busy recalling images of Hermione laughing and dancing with Krum, all the while Krum’s voice saying how he watched her over and over again. Blaise returned and nodded to Draco.

“Thanks,” he said, running out of the dorm.

It wasn’t until he had left the common room that he realised he had no idea where he planned to go. The library was far too dangerous—she could easily find him there and then he’d have to explain why he was sitting in the library when he was supposed to be ill. His best option was to find somewhere to hide and tell her he had been in the Hospital Wing, but he struggled to think of somewhere he knew she wouldn’t stumble upon him. He supposed he could actually go to the Hospital Wing, but he doubted Madam Pomfrey would believe his fake illness.

After wandering the halls for a few minutes, Draco realised there was only one place he could count himself to be hidden—the old dungeon classroom. The only other person he had ever seen near it was Hermione—which was the exact reason he didn’t want to go. He wanted to spend the day not thinking about Hermione and going to the place they regularly met didn’t seem like the best way to distract himself. Draco sighed in resignation and turned in the direction of the classroom, cursing himself for not bringing books or his homework with him.

The classroom was empty and exactly as Draco and Hermione had left it—he felt relieved seeing this, knowing that it meant that no one else had been using it. He sat down at a desk and rested his head on it. He didn’t know if spending the day alone with his thoughts would be any better than spending it with Pansy—though he doubted he could have kept up the charade of a fake illness all day.

He lifted his head and looked around the room for something to do. There was a book on one of the desks—he reached for it and realised it was a History of Magic textbook—he’d thought he’d left his in the dorm, but perhaps he’d forgotten it in the classroom. He opened it and flicked through the pages, figuring it was better than dwelling on Hermione. Skipping to the next chapter they were supposed to study, Draco settled himself and began to read. It was mildly interesting, though the textbook somehow managed to make battles and politics sound incredibly dull.

He had been reading for half an hour when he noticed something strange in the book—one of the pages had an ink blot over it, as though someone had been writing and accidentally held their quill over the book. Draco felt uneasy—he knew he had never looked at these pages before. Hoping he was wrong, he flicked to the front and looked at the name—Hermione Granger.

Draco dropped the book on the desk—how had he not realised it was hers? His was back in the dormitory, just where he had thought he’d left it. He pushed his chair back, agitated—he didn’t feel he could stand being in the classroom any longer. It was as though she was sitting there beside him—so close, yet unreachable. He turned to walk out of the room, just as the door opened and Hermione stepped inside.

Draco tried not to look panicked—he knew she had no reason to think he would care at all about her date. He tried to look natural as she looked up and noticed him, surprised.

“Oh! I didn’t know you’d be here—I just wanted to get my book, I think I left it here?”

Draco nodded and handed her the book he’d just dropped on the desk.

“Are you studying?” she asked.

“Ah—yeah,” Draco lied.

Hermione looked confused and Draco flushed, realising there was a significant lack of books or papers.

“I mean I’m studying somewhere else—I just came to get a quill I thought I left here. But it’s not here.”

“Okay,” Hermione said, not seeming to notice his awkwardness. “Did you have fun at the ball? I didn’t really see you.”

“Uh—yeah, it was nice,” he said, carefully not addressing the fact that he’d left early.

A silence fell between them and Draco realised he ought to ask Hermione if she’d enjoyed the ball. Going against every fibre of his being, Draco forced himself to speak.

“Did you? Have fun, I mean?”

“Oh loads of fun! Viktor was so sweet, we had a really wonderful night.”

“Right. Good,” Draco said flatly.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m just a bit surprised, I guess.”

“Surprised?” Hermione asked, already sounding defensive.

“Yeah, I mean doesn’t it seem a little odd?”

“That someone would ask me to the ball?”

“No, of course not! That someone like Krum would—I just don’t like the guy.”

“You don’t even know him!”

“I know what kind of guy he is!”

“Really? What kind of guy is he?” Hermione asked, crossing her arms and fixing him with a furious glare.

“He’s an asshole! He’s only—he just wants—he’s eighteen!” Draco sputtered, unable to control his anger anymore. He knew it was wrong to direct it at Hermione but he was so furious at Krum for taking advantage of her and he couldn’t believe that she refused to see it.

“Are you serious? What, you don’t think I’m mature enough just because he’s a few years older?”

“I never said that! I’m just saying I don’t think he’s a nice guy.”

“I think I can make my own decisions about who I date.”

Draco stared.

“You’re dating him?” he said, the anger in his voice replaced with something much weaker.

“I don’t know—maybe! But it’s my decision if I do or don’t date him.”

“Fine,” Draco said, unable to bear the conversation any longer. “I’m needed somewhere else.”

He walked around her and out the door, trying not to look at her and let her see the hurt that he knew was written on his face. It wasn’t until he reached the end of the corridor and rounded the corner that he realised he had never heard her leave from her spot in the doorway.


	20. Not Particularly Loquacious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the excess Kr*m in this chapter, trust me, it hurt to write it!  
> Also sorry if there are mistakes in this chapter, I almost died in a creek today--I'm slightly concussed but nothing can stop dramione!

Hermione leant against the doorframe, staring at the corner Draco had disappeared around. She felt slightly shocked—she’d never really expected Draco to have any opinion about who she went to the Yule Ball with, yet alone be angry about it. She couldn’t quite make sense of what it was about her going with Viktor that had upset him—he’d never spoken to Viktor, or had any reason to dislike him, yet he seemed so certain that he was a bad guy. She supposed someone on the outside might find the age difference odd, but she knew Viktor far better—it didn’t matter that he was a few years older.

There was something about their conversation that had unsettled Hermione, however, and she couldn’t seem to quite place her finger on what it was. She supposed it might be that she and Draco had never really spoken that much about their dating lives—she’d never asked him about Pansy, after all. Even so, the conversation had seemed slightly familiar. She racked her brains for a moment, trying to figure out what it was. She’d walked halfway down the corridor when it hit her—it had been just like her argument with Ron the night before. But that couldn’t be right—she’d thought Ron had been jealous, but it didn’t make sense that Draco would be jealous.

A thought crept into her mind but Hermione pushed it away—it was too much to consider the implications of Ron being jealous, she couldn’t imagine what she would do if she found out Draco was too. Still, he’d gotten awfully quiet and left as soon as she’d accidentally said they were dating. It was a stupid thing to say, really—they’d only been on one date and she didn’t know if that even counted. Viktor had mentioned seeing her again, but she didn’t know if he meant it, even if he had kissed her.

Hermione smiled a little as she remembered how Viktor had taken her aside to talk—how they had walked around the grounds a little and he had just stopped and kissed her. It had been her first kiss, so she had little to judge it on, but she thought it was sweet. Of course, she didn’t know if he’d thought this too—perhaps he wouldn’t want to see her again. She tried to ignore this and hope for the best—if she focused on Viktor, she wouldn’t have to worry about Draco or Ron.

Hermione had almost made it to the Great Hall and she could hear the distant rumble of student’s voices, indicating it was lunchtime. She made her way to the hall and took a seat at the Gryffindor table with Harry and Ron. She and Ron hadn’t discussed their argument from the night before and if Ron’s sudden awkward politeness was any indication, he didn’t want to talk about it. She served herself lunch and listened as Harry explained his disastrous date.

“Oh Harry, you can’t be serious? You didn’t ignore her all night?” Hermione asked, exasperated.

“I spoke to her a little!” he said, defensively.

Hermione shook her head.

“Really? What about?”

“Um—there was a song she liked?” he answered, uncertainly.

“Which one?”

“How should I know?”

Harry’s face was an odd mix of confusion and embarrassment as he stared down at his lunch. Hermione couldn’t help but pity him and laughed.

“You’re hopeless,” she said.

“Thanks, Hermione. Merlin, I would have been a good date if I could have gone with who I actually wanted to.”

“At least you were better than Malfoy—did you notice he disappeared halfway through the night? Probably couldn’t stand Parkinson.”

Hermione stared at Ron quizzically while Harry laughed. Why had Draco left early? It didn’t seem like him to abandon his date—perhaps he and Pansy weren’t together, like she had thought. Hermione tried to tell herself that this information meant nothing, yet she couldn’t help but wonder about it.

“Hermione?” Ron’s voice broke through her thoughts.

“Hm?” she asked looking up, trying to conceal the flush that had crept onto her cheeks.

“I asked if you were studying this afternoon?”

“Oh—yes, I think so. I thought I’d draw up study timetables for us all.”

Ron looked away hastily, but Hermione noticed he didn’t complain about it as he usually would. They were cut off from any further conversation by a school owl landing on the table between them. Harry reached out for it, carefully taking the letter from its leg. The owl flew away and Harry looked down at the letter.

“It’s for you,” he said, holding it out to Hermione.

Hermione reached for it and looked at the writing—it did say her name, but she didn’t recognise the writing. She opened it and read the letter.

_ Hermione, _

_ I had a wonderful time with you last night. I was hoping you would want to join me for a walk around the lake later this week. You can tell me more about Hogwarts, it was fascinating how much you have learnt about it. At Durmstrang it is hard to learn about the castle. Perhaps we can meet at the castle entrance on Thursday afternoon? _

_ I look forward to hearing from you. _

_ Viktor _

Hermione blushed as she reread the letter—was he asking her on a date? She smiled and looked down at it, feeling only slightly disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to see him until Thursday.

“Who’s the letter from?”

Hermione looked up to see Ron grimacing at her.

“Oh—it’s from Viktor,” she answered awkwardly, not sure if Ron would be okay with her bringing it up.

Ron’s ears went red and he busied himself with his lunch, not responding. Harry looked between them uncomfortably.

“So, will there be any breaks in those timetables, Hermione?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief—Harry may not have been smooth, but she felt grateful that she could at least rely upon him to be a buffer between her and Ron. She didn’t want to have to think about any awkwardness between them—it only reminded her of her argument with Draco. She looked back at the letter, reminding herself that they were only her friends—Draco probably just didn’t know how to react now that she had a date. She was certain that there was nothing else to it—or at least she hoped there wasn’t.

\---

Hermione tried to smooth down her hair as she walked down to the Entrance Hall—she kept reminding herself that Viktor had said she was beautiful before he had seen her dressed up for the ball, but she still couldn’t help thinking that he might be disappointed when he saw her out of her dress robes and with her hair back to its natural, curly state. She nervously opened the large doors, not sure if she was early—she really needed to replace her watch.

She was relieved to see Viktor waiting outside the front doors—a few girls were gathered nearby, looking at him in a way that made Hermione nervous. They turned to look at Hermione furiously when they saw Viktor smile and step toward her.

“Hello, Herm-own-ninny,” Viktor said, reaching for her hand.

“Hello,” she replied, hoping her voice didn’t sound too squeaky.

“Shall we go walk?” he asked, holding her hand in his own as though it came naturally to him.

“Oh—yes.”

They set off together through the entrance courtyard and down to the castle grounds. Viktor’s hand curled loosely around her own and Hermione was acutely aware of it. She tried to act natural, but she couldn’t quite think of how she was supposed to naturally hold someone’s hand. They walked in silence for a while and Hermione couldn’t decide if she was supposed to say something. Viktor didn’t seem to notice—he seemed quite happy to look around at the features of the Hogwarts grounds. Hermione stared out at the lake as they approached and noticed the giant squid swimming just underneath the surface.

“I have been meaning to ask, where did this squid come from? We would never have such a thing at Durmstrang.”

“I’m not sure really,” Hermione said, surprising herself as she realised she never thought about how the squid came to be at Hogwarts. “I’ve never actually asked.”

“And here I was thinking that you knew everything about Hogwarts.”

“I know some, but really only the things you can read about or what is known by every Hogwarts student. There are some things that aren’t written about though.”

Viktor looked at her, puzzled. “Really? Like what?”

“Well, I was looking for information about house-elves at Hogwarts, but there isn’t anything in any of the history books I looked at.”

“Oh,” Viktor said. Hermione waited, but he didn’t elaborate.

“I suppose it’s something that isn’t interesting to a lot of people born into wizarding families, but it seems quite odd to me,” Hermione said, trying to keep the conversation going, though she knew Harry would probably laugh at her for bringing up house-elves.

“You weren’t born into a wizarding family?” Viktor asked, with interest.

Hermione felt nervous again. “No—is that a problem?”

“No.” He didn’t expand any further.

Hermione tried to relax as they continued their walk to the lake. She supposed Viktor was the type to prefer to spend time in silence together—she could enjoy that. She and Draco often studied quietly together. Hermione shook her head, reminding herself she wasn’t thinking about Draco.

“Is everything okay?” Viktor asked, watching Hermione cautiously.

“Hm,” Hermione asked, blushing. “Oh—yes—everything’s wonderful.”

Viktor smiled and looked back to the lake. Hermione looked out at the water and noticed the Durmstrang boat.

“What is it like—staying on the boat?” she asked.

“It is fine—not as nice as our rooms back at Durmstrang, but not intolerable. Some of the other students do not like it though.”

“Why not?”

“Some have seasickness.”

“Oh—isn’t there a spell or potion for that?”

“Yes—a potion. I take it, but not everyone knows how to make it.”

Hermione paused, unsure if she should ask Viktor why he doesn’t just share his potion. She decided against it—they may have rules at Durmstrang about sharing potions, or perhaps he only has enough for himself. Hermione looked around—they had reached the far end of the lake and were now crossing around to the other side. Viktor stopped under the shade of the trees, looking around. Hermione looked back at him, quizzically.

“It is nice here—private,” he said, answering her unasked question.

Hermione nodded, looking around at the trees. Viktor tugged on her hand and pulled her closer to him. Before she could ask what he was doing, he had leaned down and kissed her. Hermione froze for a moment, surprised, before kissing him back. It felt different to their first kiss—he had been tender and sweet then, but now it seemed more urgent. After a moment, Hermione pulled back, breathless. Viktor looked at her, confused.

“Sorry—I feel like anyone could see us,” she said, partly truthfully.

“But that is why I came here—I thought we could be alone.”

Hermione smiled nervously. “That’s nice—but lots of students walk around the lake.”

“We will hear them,” he said simply, pulling her back towards him.

Hermione tried to ignore her nerves as he kissed her again, instead trying to enjoy the moment. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him and deepening the kiss. Hermione tried to act natural, hoping she wasn’t making a complete fool of herself. Viktor didn’t seem to have any complaints, so she decided she mustn’t be terrible. She allowed herself to lean into him for a moment longer, before pulling away again—she didn’t want to be so caught up that they didn’t hear anyone coming.

She didn’t quite feel comfortable kissing somewhere anyone could walk past—the first time they had kissed had felt sweet and private, but now, even though the trees disguised them, she couldn't help feeling exposed. Perhaps her conversations with Ron and Draco had made her feel self-conscious about being seen with Viktor, but suddenly she couldn’t stand the idea of someone seeing them together—at least not until she worked out her feelings. Viktor was watching her and Hermione suspected he was about to lean in again, so she quickly asked something to distract him.

“What’s it like at Durmstrang? Are your grounds like this?”

Hermione couldn’t tell if it was her imagination or if Viktor looked slightly irritated.

“They are nice—we don’t get to enjoy them much, like you do. See, we can walk out here even in the winter, but it is far too cold at Durmstrang. It is better in the summer.”

“Hogwarts is the same,” Hermione said, grateful that he hadn’t ignored her attempt at conversation. “It’s just lovely in the summer, especially near here, by the lake. Lots of students will have picnics out here when it’s warm.”

“A picnic with you would be lovely,”

Hermione blushed.

“It may be a little cold at the moment,” she said, laughing.

“I can think of a way to keep us warm.”

Hermione laughed again, nervously.

“Do you like Durmstrang?”

“I do, mostly—though there are no girls as beautiful as you there.”

“Oh—thank you,” Hermione said, taken aback.

Viktor leaned in again and Hermione ducked her head.

“I think I need to get back to the castle,” she found herself saying.

Viktor was looking at her, slightly hurt.

“I have some study I need to get to,” she said, by way of explanation.

“You cannot stay a little longer?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, not wanting to be rude.

“Can I persuade you to stay?” he asked, reaching for her hand again and smirking.

Hermione smiled back—it was flattering that he wanted to spend time with her that much.

“I’m sorry—I promised a friend we’d study together and he’ll be waiting?”

“He?”

“Yes—my friend, Ron.”

“Oh—you have a few male friends.”

Hermione stared, unsure how to respond

“Yes, I do,” she said after a moment.

“That’s...nice,” Viktor said, though his tone suggested he thought differently.

Hermione nodded and waited for him to say something else. When he didn’t, she spoke again.

“Well, I should go.”

“Okay.”

Hermione hugged Viktor quickly and walked away, around the lake and back up towards the castle. She tried to make sense of their date as she walked—there hadn’t been anything strictly wrong with it, yet the whole thing hadn’t felt quite right. She shook her head as she walked, deciding that she was probably just overreacting—she had just been nervous about kissing Viktor. Still, she couldn’t help but think that she never seemed to struggle that much to carry a conversation with Draco--even when they’d been arguing.

\---

Hermione felt too embarrassed to find Draco and apologise, especially considering now she had found out he might be right. Ever since her date with Viktor, Hermione had begun to think about what Draco had said about his age and what he wanted from her. Though she trusted Viktor, she couldn’t help but think about the fact that he was clearly more experienced than she was and hadn’t really seemed to care much about that. She didn’t like thinking back to their argument—she had been so defensive when really Draco was only trying to look out for her. She couldn’t bring herself to admit that to him, however, so she had instead spent the time leading up to the new term starting avoiding him.

She was unable to avoid him, however, when classes returned and they were back at their shared desk in Arithmancy. She felt Draco shooting her looks, but she stared determinedly ahead, trying not to notice how hot her cheeks were getting. Halfway through the lesson, during which Hermione felt she had done a successful job of ignoring Draco, she felt something poke her arm. She broke her resolve and looked at Draco sharply. He was holding out a note to her, looking at the front of the classroom. She took it quickly and slid it beneath her parchment. Hermione waited until Professor Vector’s back had turned to pull up the parchment and read what Draco had written.

_ Can we talk? I’m going to go to the library after class through that passage. _

Hermione understood clearly what it meant—if she wanted to speak, they could have privacy in the passage—but she wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was Draco wanting to apologise, or did he simply want to tell her off again? She couldn’t decide which was worse. She could feel Draco’s eyes on her and dropped her parchment back onto the note, returning to copying down the information Professor Vector was writing out. She felt Draco sigh beside her and tried not to flinch—she knew she would have to talk to him at some point, but she felt so embarrassed every time she thought about apologising to him.

The bell rang too soon and Draco had left the class before Hermione had time to even pick up her things. She shoved her books into her bag and followed after him—she wasn’t quite sure when she had decided, but she knew it was better to speak to him and get it over with. Hermione reached the tapestry that concealed the passage to the library and looked around cautiously, before pulling it open and slipping inside. She nearly crashed into Draco, who was waiting directly behind the tapestry.

“Fu—sorry!” Draco said quickly, reaching out a hand to steady her.

Hermione straightened up and laughed.

“It’s fine—just didn’t expect you to be right here.”

“I didn’t expect you to come,” he said, stepping back to allow Hermione more room in the passage.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment, both waiting for the other one to speak.

“Hermione, I’m sorry—”

“It’s fine, honestly don’t worry about it,” Hermione said, cutting him off.

Draco looked surprised. “I just don’t want you to think I don’t trust your judgement, I do and I know you can look after yourself. It’s just that—”

“Really, Draco—it’s fine. I’m sorry I got so angry about it. I overreacted.”

“No, it wasn’t my place—”

“Draco really, it’s okay. I thought about what you said and honestly—I think Viktor and I may be better off as friends.”

“Really?”

“Yeah—he’s nice and all, it’s just…” Hermione trailed off, not sure what she was going to say.

“Right?” Draco offered.

Hermione looked at him and nodded, realising suddenly how close his face was, barely distinguishable in the darkness of the tunnel. She breathed in quickly and looked away. When she looked back up at Draco, she couldn’t quite read his expression.

“Do you need to go to the library?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, although he didn’t move.

“I should probably go to lunch,” Hermione said, not moving either.

The sound of someone walking past in the corridor outside caused them both to look around. Hermione shook her head slightly, trying to understand what had just transpired between them.

“I’ll see you soon?” she asked, stepping toward the tapestry.

“Sure—do you want to meet later to study together?”

“Yeah,” Hermione found herself answering without thinking, “the dungeon classroom?”

“After lessons today?”

“Okay,” Hermione said and she pulled the tapestry aside and stepped out of the corridor.

\---

“Where have you been all day?” Ron asked when Hermione returned to the common room that evening.

“Studying, why?”

“Just haven’t seen you,” he said, shrugging. “Thought you might be building a tunnel for the house-elves to escape through.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Hermione said thoughtfully. Ron stared at her incredulously for a moment before he realised she was joking.

“Well, now you’re here, do you think you can help me with this essay at all? I’ve been looking through the textbook but I can’t find where the hell it explains why this wand movement is so important—I’ve said all the usual guff but I know there was something specific.”

Hermione pulled the essay closer and looked over it.

“You’re right in what you’ve said so far, but what you’re missing isn’t in the textbook. Flitwick said it in class, I’ll grab my notes for you.”

“Thank you, Hermione,” he said appreciatively as she pulled out her notes.

She flicked through the pages of parchment, trying to find her notes from Charms. As she shuffled them, a small scrap of parchment slipped out and fell onto the table. Too late, she realised it was the note from Draco. She reached quickly to pick it up, but Ron had already seen it.

“Who’s that from?” he asked curiously.

“Hm? Oh no one.”

“It said they wanted to talk to you.”

“Yeah it was nothing, though,” she said quickly, dropping it back into her bag. She hoped that if it was out of sight, Ron would move on.

Ron was still staring at her, however.

“It’s not from Krum, is it?” he asked, his voice carefully casual.

“No!” Hermione said, perhaps a little too emphatically, “If you must know, it’s from someone else in my class and they needed to discuss a feminine issue.”

This shut Ron up, just as Hermione had hoped. His ears went red and he looked back down at his essay.

“Right, well—that’s good—good that you can—help,” he said gruffly.

Hermione nodded and finally spotted her Charms notes—she pulled them out and cautiously began explaining them to Ron, cursing herself for not being more careful. She didn’t even know why she had held onto the note from Malfoy, but she knew she would need to be more careful in the future.

\---

Somehow, over the next month, Hermione and Draco began to develop a routine. It began with slipping notes to each other, suggesting they meet to study together, and soon enough it became a part of each of their schedules. Hermione didn’t quite know when she had become so familiar with Draco’s timetable, but more and more regularly they were meeting together in the abandoned dungeon classroom. Some days, one of them would get there before the other and would simply start working on their own—they had both come to be very comfortable in the classroom, almost claiming it as their own.

There were days when Hermione couldn’t get away from whoever she was with and never made it down to the classroom—on these days she felt bad, but Draco never seemed too upset. There was the odd occasion where Draco would be too busy to meet at the classroom and Hermione found herself wandering to it anyway, finding it quiet and peaceful enough for her to get her work done.

At first, they would only study together, both pulling out their books as soon as the other arrived and discussing their shared classes, scanning each other’s notes for anything they had missed. There was no immediate shift, but as they became more comfortable around each other, Hermione and Draco found themselves sometimes abandoning their books for long conversations, or forgetting to bring them out entirely. Hermione had rarely felt so comfortable talking to someone and found herself sharing with him how much she missed her parents and how it was sometimes difficult to talk about the things going on at Hogwarts when they knew so little about it. Draco was surprisingly understanding and even curious about her parents and their Muggle lives. In turn, Draco opened up about his family and the difficulties of living up to being the perfect Pure-Blood son.

It was this newfound closeness that made Hermione feel particularly bad when she was hardly able to see Draco in the weeks leading up to the second task. She’d slipped him a note, explaining she’d be helping Harry and couldn’t come to the classroom—but even as she sat in the library, sorting through book after book, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander to think about what Draco was doing. She was looking forward to the second task being over, not only so that Harry could relax, but also so that she could freely see Draco again.

The night before the second task, she, Ron and Harry stayed up late in the library, still searching for a clue as to how Harry could attempt the task. They were beginning to feel helpless and Hermione desperately searched through the books, hoping that there was something she had missed that could help Harry. When Fred and George found them to tell Ron and Hermione that McGonagall was looking for them, Hermione left, frustrated at the disruption to their search. They promised to return as soon as they could, exchanging nervous looks as they wondered whatever it was that McGonagall wanted.

\---

The first thing Hermione remembered when her head broke through the surface was being in Professor McGonagall’s office. The sound of the roaring crowd disoriented her and she shrieked as she saw the deformed shark head beside her, splashing to get away. Distantly, she recalled Dumbledore calmly explaining the enchanted sleep she was being placed under and her role in the second task, but she still panicked as she felt the icy water seeping into her robes.

She felt someone beside her and sputtered, turning to see Viktor reaching out for her. It took a moment for her to realise that he had been the strange-looking shark that emerged beside her. He began to pull her towards the river bank, but Hermione pulled her arm away—she didn’t feel comfortable having someone pull her through the water when she already felt so tense. She reached the bank just after Viktor and was immediately wrapped in a large towel by Madam Pomfrey, who wasted no time in fussing over them both. Hermione looked around frantically as the matron surveyed her, searching for Harry. A quick glance told her he still had not emerged, but she continued searching through the crowd. Neither Harry nor Ron were there, but Cedric, Cho and Fleur were. Hermione was shocked to see that Fleur did not have her sister with her—apparently she had not completed the task. Hermione realised this meant that Harry was the only champion left in the lake.

The clock hanging above the stands indicated they were well past the time limit of one hour. Hermione pulled the towel closer around her and watched the lake nervously, blocking out the sound of the crowd around her. She felt Viktor move beside her, but did not turn to look at him, her eyes focused on the now still water of the lake.

“I think I must thank you,” Hermione heard Viktor say beside her. “I do not know if I could have done as well if I did not have such a motivation to win.”

Hermione nodded, not wanting to take her eyes off the water.

“You are, after all, the thing I will miss most,” Viktor continued, “especially after I leave—I have been meaning to ask, I would like it very much if you could come and visit me over the summer.”

Hermione furrowed her brow, recalling what Harry had told her about the egg clue—it had said they’d take what you’ll ‘sorely miss’. She felt a little uncomfortable as she realised that she had been chosen as the person Viktor would miss most. She knew that this had been decided by Dumbledore and the other judges, but she couldn’t help feeling uneasy—they had been on a couple of dates, but they hardly knew each other. It struck her as a little odd that they could not think of any friend who Viktor was close with in his own school who they could use—did he not have close friends there?

She was unsure of how exactly to respond, especially to his invitation for her to visit—she didn’t feel she ought to agree to something so far in the future with a guy she hardly knew. Besides, she would have to talk to her parents about it first before she could agree to stay with someone. She didn’t think any of this was the appropriate response however, so she simply nodded again, non-committedly, as she stared out at the lake.

Viktor, apparently catching on that she did not want to talk, moved closer and draped his arm around her. Hermione was saved from having to find a way out of this by a sudden disturbance in the water—Ron and Fleur’s sister’s heads had just broken through the surface, followed closely by Harry. Hermione stepped forward to reach Harry and Ron and was pushed aside by Percy rushing to pull Ron out of the water and Madam Pomfrey running toward them, arms laden with towels. Hermione made her way to them after Pomfrey had sat them down, wrapped tightly in towels.

“Harry, well done! You did it, you found out how all by yourself!” Hermione said, relieved. She had worried ever since McGonagall had told them they would not be returning to their common rooms about how Harry would find a way on his own.

“Well—yeah, that’s right,” Harry said and Hermione wondered if there was something he wasn’t telling her.

“You have a water-beetle in your hair Herm-own-ninny,” Hermione heard Vitkor say from behind her.

She brushed her hair impatiently, dismissing him and turning her attention back to Harry. He raised his eyebrows questioningly and Hermione ignored him, asking instead about how he found them. Harry’s reply was cut off by the judges announcing that they would be revealing the scores after a brief discussion. Harry was watching them nervously and Hermione decided she could ask how Harry managed to complete the task later.

The scores were revealed and Hermione squealed as she realised Harry was now tied for first place and flung her arms around him. Ron was yelling loudly about ‘moral fibre’ and she could see Fleur cheering for him too, apparently incredibly grateful to him for rescuing her sister. Hermione felt a tug on her arm and turned around to see Viktor looking slightly irritated.

“Were you not going to congratulate me?”

“Later!” she said, turning back to Harry and smiling widely at him—she didn’t really think Viktor needed to be congratulated on coming second last and performing an incomplete Transfiguration. But Harry had done it. He had tied for first place—one more task and this whole mess would be over.

\---

“Hermione!” a voice hissed as she hurried down the corridor after finally being discharged from Madam Pomfrey.

The matron had held them all for a while after the task, but eventually allowed Hermione to go after looking her over. Ron and Harry were still waiting, so she had agreed to meet them in the common room—she couldn’t stand staying in her dirty, wet clothes any longer and she’d gotten the idea that Viktor wanted to talk after he had been checked. Given that he was right after her, Hermione decided to hurry up to the common room.

Now, however, she looked around, trying to locate where the voice had come from. From a classroom on her right, Draco was peering out. Hermione stopped and looked around before ducking into the classroom.

“Are you okay?” he asked as soon as she had stepped inside.

“Yeah, I’m fine—Madam Pomfrey just wanted to check us all over,” Hermione said, taken aback by the fact that he had apparently waited around just to check she was safe.

“I was so worried about you—I didn’t know you were a part of the task until I heard everyone talking about who had been taken hostage. It must have been terrifying!”

“It was okay—we were put under an enchantment so we didn’t wake up until we were back above the water.”

Draco looked relieved. “So you were okay?”

Hermione smiled. “Yeah I was fine—it was a little strange coming to in the water though.”

“Yeah?” Draco prompted.

“Well, seeing Viktor’s shark head was scary,” she said, laughing slightly. She fell silent as she recalled the panic when she realised Harry and Ron were still not out.

“What?” Draco asked, noticing the sudden shift.

Hermione sighed, trying to figure out how to explain what she felt.

“It’s just—I really worried when Harry and Ron weren’t there. I had no idea if Harry had figured it out or if either of them were safe.”

Draco nodded. “They’re safe now,” he said reassuringly and Hermione took a deep breath, reminding herself he was right.

“I should probably go back—I told Harry and Ron I’d meet them in the common room,” Hermione said after a moment.

Draco nodded and Hermione had stepped forward to hug him, before she even realised what she was doing. He wrapped his arms around her and Hermione instantly felt a sense of peace for the first time since she had stepped into McGonagall’s office. She rested her head on his shoulder, perhaps for a moment too long, but she couldn’t quite pull herself away. Something about being alone with Draco like this was comforting in a way she couldn’t quite describe.

There was the sound of footsteps outside the door and they jolted apart. Draco stared past Hermione and she whipped her head around to see what he was looking at. Just outside the partially closed door stood Viktor, watching them with a confused expression. Draco was the first to move--he walked past Hermione, his head ducked as he stepped around Viktor and out the door.

“Hi, Viktor,” Hermione said, trying to sound natural.

“You have a lot of male friends,” he said in response.

“Um—I guess so.”

“You and he are close?” Viktor asked, sounding irritated.

“Not very—we don’t speak much actually,” Hermione lied—she didn’t think it was wise to tell Viktor how close she and Draco were.

“You looked close.”

“Oh—that was nothing. Don’t worry about it,” Hermione said, hoping her voice sounded casual.

“Nothing?”

“Yeah—I was asking him about some work for one of our classes.”

“And he had to hug you to tell you?”

Hermione’s heart sank—she’d hoped that somehow Viktor hadn’t noticed that.

“No!” she said, forcing her voice to be light. “He just explained something that I was really confused with so I got excited. Honestly he doesn’t really like me so he’s probably really embarrassed.”

“Oh,” was all Viktor said.

Hermione watched him uncertainly, hoping he believed her lie.

“He is really not important to you?”

Hermione thought this was an odd way to phrase the question, but nodded anyway.

“Not at all,” she lied.

“Okay,” he said, sounding relieved.

Hermione smiled and made a move toward the door, thinking their conversation was over.

“You never gave me an answer,” Viktor said as she reached the door.

“For what?” Hermione asked, confused.

“About visiting me over the summer?”

Hermione froze.

“Oh—it’s really nice of you to ask but I’m not sure.” Viktor looked hurt and Hermione hurried to elaborate, “It’s just my parents only get to see me for a short time each year so I’d have to talk to them about it.”

“But you will consider it?” Viktor pressed.

Hermione hesitated, glancing down at the floor and back to Viktor.

“Maybe—but it might be better if I visited as a friend,” she said quickly.

“As a friend?”

“Yes—I’m sorry Viktor, I just think we’re better suited as friends, don’t you? I do like spending time with you, but I don’t think I’m ready for anything more.”

“You are not ready for more with us or for more with anyone?”

“With anyone!” she said, not wanting to offend him.

He looked relieved, as though she had answered some other question.

“That is okay—I am nice so I will wait until you are ready. We can be friends until then.”

Hermione nodded—it wasn’t quite the answer she wanted, but at least he didn’t seem angry.

“Okay—well, I should probably go back to my common room.”

“I can walk you if you would like?” Viktor offered.

“Oh—that’s okay. I’m sure you want to go back and celebrate with your classmates.”

Viktor nodded but didn’t say anything and again Hermione wondered if he had many friends at Durmstrang.

“Goodbye,” she said, waving as she walked out of the classroom.

Hermione felt oddly lighter as she left and she couldn’t quite place why. She knew it was a relief to slow things down with Viktor, but she couldn’t help but think that the feeling had been with her since before then—since she had been with Draco. She didn’t know why, but something about being near Draco seemed to make everything else better.


	21. Proceed With Caution

“Draco,” a voice said, disturbing his sleep.

“Mph,” he groaned, pulling his pillow over his head.

“Get up,” the voice repeated, exasperated. Draco was fairly certain it was Blaise, but he didn’t know why he was bothering—Draco hadn’t gotten up for breakfast all week.

Draco felt a shark poke in his side and let out a yelp, pulling the pillow aside to glare at Blaise.

“What the _fuck_ is your problem?”

“My problem is that I am starving and you aren’t even dressed for breakfast yet.”

Draco pulled the pillow back over his eyes. “I’m not coming—so you can leave me alone.”

“Not happening—you have to eat,” Blaise said, tugging at the pillow.

“Not hungry,” he said.

“False—I could hear your stomach rumbling all through Transfiguration yesterday.”

Draco held onto the pillow, trying to think of a comeback. He felt a tug and released his grip—Blaise was staring down at him with a look that made him feel truly pathetic.

“Get up,” Blaise said.

Draco began to nod but was stopped by Blaise bringing the pillow down swiftly and hitting his side.

“Ow—fuck, okay, I’m getting up,” Draco grumbled, pushing himself out of bed.

“You are very unpleasant in the morning,” Blaise commented.

“Shut up,” Draco groaned, searching through his trunk for his clothes.

“You’re only proving my point.”

Draco decided not to answer and instead went to the bathroom to change.

“Hurry up—we don’t have long before lessons start,” Blaise called from the dormitory.

Draco didn’t even bother to look in the mirror, just pushed his hair back, hoping for the best. He knew it was pathetic to fall apart this much over a girl, but he hadn’t spoken to Hermione for weeks and it was killing him. For the first week after the second task, he’d been elated. He’d almost believed that something had passed between them that night—the way she had confided in him and the hug they had shared had made Draco feel hopeful that there was a chance she returned his feelings. He hadn’t stopped thinking about what might have happened if they hadn’t been interrupted by Krum.

As the week had gone on, however, Hermione had been so crowded by people asking about the second task that Draco hadn’t had a chance to speak to her. At first he had tried to dismiss the worrying thoughts that crept in, but as the weeks wore on it became more and more difficult not to wonder if perhaps Hermione was avoiding him—he didn’t even know what to think if that was the case. The thought of it had made him miserable, hence his reluctance to get out of bed—he couldn’t quite see the point in getting up for breakfast just to avoid looking at Hermione.

“Hurry up, Draco—I’m sure your hair is fine,” Blaise called out.

“Sod off,” Draco said, walking out of the bathroom.

“Finally,” Blaise said, rolling his eyes and turning towards the door.

Draco followed after him, still wishing he’d stayed in bed.

“Hurry, hurry,” Blaise called from ahead as they walked out of the common room.

“I’m coming,” Draco said tiredly.

He took a few long strides to catch up to Blaise, trying to wake himself up as he walked. He had only just reached Blaise’s side when something hit him and he stopped walking.

“What now?” Blaise asked, turning to look at him.

“It’s a Saturday! Today is Saturday!” Draco said, annoyed.

“Yes?”

“You said we had to hurry for class!”

“Did I?” Blaise said, a look of false incredulity on his face.

“You know you did, you twat.”

“Forgive me for being hungry.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“Come on, Draco—you were never going to get out of bed.”

“I was quite comfortable with that,” Draco said, irritated.

“There’ll be bacon?” Blaise said, apparently at an attempt at peace.

Draco snorted and shook his head, following Blaise into the Hall. The smell of bacon wafted through the doors and Draco tried not to breathe it in too deeply—he didn’t want Blaise to know that he was right. They took a seat at the end of the table and Draco filled his plate, trying to look reluctant—it was much harder to pretend he didn’t care when he was confronted with the Hogwarts cooking.

“So are you going to tell me what this is all about?” Blaise asked, as soon as Draco took a bite of food.

Draco chewed slowly, delaying his answer. Blaise stared at him, eyebrows raised.

“Did you plot to get me to come to breakfast just so that you could corner me?” Draco asked, irritated.

“I’d hardly say you’re cornered—there are plenty of ways for you to leave,” Blaise replied, with a look of maddening bewilderment.

“Fine—did you lure me down to breakfast just so that you could talk to me when I wouldn’t leave?”

“I wouldn’t say lured, either—I recall having to throw a pillow to get you out of bed.”

Draco huffed but didn’t say anything.

“Can’t think of another way to avoid the question?” Blaise asked, amused.

Draco glared at him.

“Good to know you’re enjoying this,” he grumbled.

“I could be—if I knew what had put you in such a horrible mood. I could hazard a guess it has something to do with a certain Gryffindor you’ve been avoiding looking at?”

Draco stared stonily at his half-empty plate. He could feel Blaise’s eyes on him.

“Are you worried about her?” Blaise asked, lowering his voice.

“Should I be?” Draco shot back.

“I don’t know—she is friends with Potter after all,” Blaise said thoughtfully. “And she was involved in the second task,” he added.

Draco winced, as the memory of their conversation after the second task came back to him—how had he been so stupid, allowing himself to read more into what had passed between them?

“Out with it,” Blaise demanded, noticing Draco’s sour expression.

Draco sighed—he didn’t know what good talking about it would do, but maybe this would be enough for him to get over the whole thing.

“It’s stupid—I just thought something might have happened. I thought she seemed—well—different with me. But she hasn’t spoken to me since she stopped the conversation to talk to Krum so now I just feel like a total idiot.”

“You are a total idiot,” Blaise deadpanned.

Draco glared at him. “Thanks for your support.”

“I’m being serious—you are.”

“This is not helping,” Draco said, resting his head in his hands.

“But you haven’t actually been paying attention,” Blaise said.

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, irritated.

“Your Gryffindor friend has hardly spoken to Krum since the second task—whatever conversation she left you to have, I don’t think you need to be concerned.”

“How do you know that?” Draco asked, lifting his head from his hands to look at Blaise.

“I know much of what goes on around Hogwarts,” Blaise said, grinning.

“You get too much enjoyment from knowing gossip—I can hardly believe I trusted you with this.”

Blaise shook his head at Draco. “It’s far safer to know people’s secrets than to spread them, my dear.”

“Is that your motto?”

“For today—it’s ever changing.”

Draco laughed despite himself.

“So they haven’t been speaking?” he asked, allowing himself to feel hopeful.

“Not according to my sources.”

“Who’s that? Mrs Norris?”

“I have many informants.”

“Did they tell you why she hasn’t spoken to me?” Draco asked, trying not to sound pathetic.

“I’m afraid not—I suspect I’m the only one that knows that particular secret.”

Draco looked around the hall nervously, suddenly aware of all the people that might overhear their conversation.

“So she hasn’t been speaking to Krum?”

Blaise shook his head.

“It still doesn’t explain why she hasn’t spoken to me,” Draco said, confused.

“That I cannot explain,” Blaise said, looking puzzled.

Draco groaned and let his head fall back into his hands.

“I’m sure it’s nothing—you’re overthinking, Draco.”

“Probably,” Draco said, his voice muffled by his hands.

“Eat,” Blaise said, pushing Draco’s plate closer to him.

Draco sighed and picked up his fork. He allowed himself to look once across the hall at Hermione as he ate—she was laughing at something the Weasley girl had said. He dropped his eyes to look at his plate and tried to ignore the pang in his stomach—maybe he was overthinking, but he could hardly get himself to think of anything else.

\---

Draco left Blaise after breakfast to go for a walk around the lake, hoping to clear his head—Blaise had attempted to join him, but Draco insisted he would rather be alone. He’d walked halfway around the lake and was considering going back to the castle when he heard someone come up behind him.

“Draco?” Hermione’s voice was soft and nervous.

He whipped his head around to look at her, then up at the castle—anyone could be looking out at them from one of its many windows. Hermione followed his gaze and stepped back.

“Do you want to meet on the other side of the lake?” Draco asked after a moment, indicating to where the shoreline met the forest.

Hermione nodded and turned away from him, walking around the lake in the opposite direction. Draco tried not to set off too quickly—his mind was racing with thoughts of why Hermione was wanting to speak to him now. He reached the edge of the forest quickly and ducked in between the trees to where he hoped he was concealed. He was surprised to see Hermione was already there, slightly breathless.

“How are you?” she asked as he walked toward her.

“I’m good,” Draco said, watching her uncertainly. “You?”

“Good, too—I’ve been pretty busy,” Hermione said, looking away from him.

“Yeah, I figured,” Draco said, trying to sound casual. “With the second task and everything.”

Hermione nodded.

“I was avoiding everyone. They all wanted to talk about Krum and I—”

“You didn’t want the attention, that’s fine—it would have been hard for us to talk with everyone crowding you.”

An odd look briefly crossed over Hermione’s face.

“Yeah—I thought it best not to risk anything.”

Draco nodded, not sure what else to say.

“I thought we’d be able to talk once it died down but now with exams coming up…” Hermione trailed off.

Draco looked at her curiously. “We could have studied together if that was the problem.”

Hermione looked around awkwardly. “I guess I didn’t think of that—sorry—but we should.”

Draco nodded, trying to understand Hermione’s behaviour.

“Well, did you want to meet later today?” he asked after a moment.

Hermione smiled and Draco felt relieved.

“Okay,” she said, “what time?”

“Three? In the dungeon classroom?”

Hermione smiled and nodded. “I’ll see you then.”

Before Draco could think of anything else to say, she had waved goodbye and was gone.

\---

Draco and Hermione had spent every spare moment they had over the weekend together. He tried to ignore Blaise’s knowing looks when he made up an excuse to leave, but it was too difficult to hide the smile that seemed to be constantly on his face. Hermione hadn’t given any further explanation for her distance over the past month, but Draco never asked for any—he was too afraid to upset her and to ruin their time together.

He tried his best to study Hermione for any clue as to what had gone on with her, but he couldn’t figure it out—she was, however, slightly different. He couldn’t quite place why, but it was as though she was cautious around him—stiffening when he leaned too close and pausing when she spoke, as though she was monitoring what she was saying. Draco supposed he may just be reading too much into subtle things, but he couldn’t help but feel that her behaviour had something to do with what had happened between them after the second task—he didn’t know if this was good or bad and had decided resolutely not to ask. It was better to ignore it—they were speaking now, at least.

They continued studying together over the next week and Draco felt wonderfully happy—quite contrary to his mood the previous week. Being in such a pleasant mood, Draco didn’t need to be woken by a pillow to the face anymore—as he had very clearly told Blaise—so he was quite shocked to see Blaise standing beside his bed when he woke up Friday morning.

Instinctively, he reached to block his face. Blaise shook his head and pulled Draco’s arm away.

“I’m not going to hit you,” he said, his face tense, “but I need to tell you something before the others come back.”

Draco glanced around the dormitory and noticed it was deserted—he supposed his dormmates were showering or at breakfast.

“What?” Draco asked, sitting up.

“I overheard Vincent and Greg last night—they were talking about that reporter woman,” Blaise said, sounding hesitant.

“Rita Skeeter?” Draco asked, confused.

“Yeah—apparently she did an interview with Pansy,” Blaise said, glancing towards the door nervously.

“Fuck,” Draco groaned, wondering exactly what Pansy had said—he knew she was mad at him, but would she actually badmouth him to Rita Skeeter?

“Not about you,” Blaise said quickly. “About Granger.”

“Oh, fuck no,” Draco said, seething.

“I have no idea what exactly it was about, but Vincent and Greg were laughing and well…it is Pansy,” Blaise said, sounding apprehensive.

“When’s it coming out?” Draco asked, hoping he would have time to warn Hermione.

Blaise looked at him, his face full of pity. “Today.”

Draco jumped out of bed, swearing loudly. “Are you serious? She’s never going to believe I didn’t know—I need to warn her, tell her I only just found out!” he exclaimed, reaching for his school clothes.

“Draco, stop,” Blaise said, his voice calm as he reached for his arm.

Draco pushed him away and reached under his bed for his shoes.

“If you get a chance to speak to her and warn her, that’ll be great, but Draco—”

“ _If?_ There’s no _if_ —I have to find her.”

“But what if you can’t speak to her privately? Are you going to risk everything for this? I know you’ve seen things changing, now is not the time to make a mistake!” Blaise said, his voice strained.

“I have to warn her—she has to know I wasn’t a part of this,” Draco said desperately.

“She will—when you tell her. But you might not have time now and if someone sees the two of you talking…” Blaise trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish the sentence—Draco had realised what he was trying to tell him.

“I never get to speak to her before school—the Great Hall is so busy,” Draco said softly.

“I know,” Blaise said.

“Why did you tell me? I won’t even be able to tell her that I didn’t know.”

“Because I would be an even bigger jerk if you found out I knew and didn’t tell you,” Blaise said, looking down at his feet.

“Thank you for telling me—maybe I’ll somehow get to speak to her and if not…well, I hope she doesn’t hate me.”

“I don’t think she will,” Blaise said. “She seems to want to spend all her time with you—doesn’t seem like she’ll give that up suddenly.”

Draco nodded, lost in his thoughts. Their conversation was interrupted by Theo entering the room and Draco turned to pick up his clothes again, hoping Blaise was right.

\---

Draco glimpsed Hermione only briefly at breakfast and she appeared to be in a tense conversation with Potter and Weasley—there wasn’t a chance to so much as exchange a look, attempting to convey that he needed to speak to her. His head shot up nervously every time he heard Pansy’s voice throughout the day, certain it would be calling out a taunt to Hermione. He hoped that perhaps it wouldn’t be read—it was being printed in Witch Weekly and he knew Hermione only read The Prophet. As much as he hoped she wouldn’t read it, however, he was certain Pansy would bring it up at the first chance she got—which was provided to her in the form of their shared double Potions.

Draco was standing right in the middle of Vincent, Greg and Pansy when Hermione rounded the corner with Potter and Weasley. Pansy, who was still laughing and showing the article to the Slytherins, looked up as soon as she felt Draco stiffen beside her. She grinned at him, mistaking his nerves for excitement.

“There they are, there they are!” she said, giggling ridiculously and pointing them out, as though her fellow Slytherins didn’t know exactly who she was talking about.

Hermione’s eyes met with Draco’s, a puzzled expression on her face. He dropped his gaze, feeling like a coward as he listened to Pansy jeer at Hermione and throw the magazine to her. Before she could say any more, Snape opened the door and they filed in for the lesson. Draco sat in his usual seat, trying to look inconspicuous as he turned his head to look at Hermione. She seemed to be reading the article under the desk, with Potter and Weasley leaning over her shoulder to see it. He turned his head back, hoping no one had noticed—though he supposed they would think he was just waiting in anticipation. Blaise was watching him cautiously and slightly shook his head, suggesting that Draco was not as subtle as he had hoped.

“Remember what I said,” Blaise whispered from the corner of his mouth. “Things are changing—don’t give them a reason to suspect you.”

Draco nodded and focused his eyes on the front—there didn’t seem to be any sound of upset coming from where Hermione was sitting, but Draco couldn’t count on that to mean she wasn’t upset—he needed to look at her face to see what she really thought. He looked around the table and noticed the Slytherins were all watching Hermione, their expressions hungry. Draco relaxed his own face, aiming for cool indifference, and turned to look just in time to see Hermione smile and wave sarcastically at them. Draco looked back at the other Slytherins, who were just as confused as he was—Pansy in particular looked sour-faced and Draco concentrated hard so that his face did not betray any amusement at this.

Perhaps Hermione truly didn’t care about whatever the article said—he knew she wasn’t one to care much for gossip, but he thought she might be upset to discover she was the centre of it. Her face was red as she whispered to Potter and Weasley, but she appeared to be angry rather than embarrassed—he just hoped that anger wasn’t directed at him. A sharp jab in the side drew Draco’s attention away and he looked at Blaise, irritated. Blaise simply gave him a look that made it clear Draco wasn’t being cautious enough. He turned back to the front of the classroom and began copying down notes from the blackboard—he was so carefully focused on this that he failed to notice Snape making his way to where Hermione was sitting.

“Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Granger. I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor,” Snape said coldly.

Draco’s head shot around to look at the Gryffindors. He didn’t need to worry about what people would think—the rest of the Slytherins were watching just as closely as he was.

“Ah…reading magazines under the table as well? A further ten points from Gryffindor. Oh, but of course…Potter has to keep up with his press cuttings,” Snape drawled and Draco silently cursed him—he’d always thought Snape’s attitude towards Potter was justified, but even Draco could see that Potter hated the attention and press.

Snape reached to snatch the magazine from Hermione and Draco breathed a sigh of relief, hoping this meant it was over—if all that happened was a few lost points and a dig at Potter, he could hope that Hermione wouldn’t be too upset. He moved to look at his notes, but was stopped by the sound of Snape’s voice, raised theatrically—to Draco’s horror, he realised that Snape was now reading the article aloud. Draco dared a glance at the other Slytherins and immediately regretted it when he saw their hungry grins—he forced his face to mimic their expressions and tried to look anywhere but Hermione.

As Snape read on, Draco wished that he could have gone on not knowing what the article was about. The only thing worse than agonising over whatever had occurred, or was occurring, between Krum and Hermione was hearing Snape read Skeeter’s twisted account of the whole relationship—with a suggested love triangle dragging Potter into it too. Draco knew Hermione well enough now to know there was nothing more than friendship between her and Potter, but he still despised the image of her with anyone else and he certainly hated the way she was being described in this article.

It wasn’t until Snape began to near the end of the article that a new thought occurred to Draco—Skeeter may not be portraying the events accurately, but her story was founded in facts. If Skeeter was watching Hermione this closely, would she notice where Hermione went when she disappeared from her friends? Draco shuddered at the thought—what would his family say if they learnt of this friendship through an article in Witch Weekly? His only comfort was the thought that Skeeter would certainly include something as scandalous as a Malfoy befriending a Muggle-born Gryffindor if she knew of it—the lack of mention meant he was safe, at least for now.

Snape finally finished his dramatic reading and decided to further punish the Gryffindor trio by separating them. Draco felt sick when he heard Snape telling Hermione to sit beside Pansy—she was surely going to tease her for the rest of the double lesson and he knew Snape wouldn’t care to stop it. Draco’s brief hope that Hermione wouldn’t be too upset by the article vanished instantly.

Draco tried his best to focus on his potion for the remainder of the period—he knew looking at Pansy and Hermione would only anger him and he doubted he could hide this. He could feel Blaise’s eyes watching him carefully, a constant reminder that he could not betray his thoughts to anyone.

He had just begun to focus on his potion, when there was a knock at the potion door. The whole class turned to look—it was rare their classes were interrupted. Snape told whoever was at the door to enter and Draco was shocked to see Karkaroff. He was unsure what exactly Karkaroff was doing in a fourth year potions class, but he could only think of one thing he had in common with Snape—whatever was happening here, he suspected it was something to worry about.

Snape tried to the best of his ability to convince Karkaroff to leave, but the Durmstrang headmaster refused. Draco exchanged a quick look with Blaise and knew that he was connecting the same dots Draco was—though Blaise’s family had never been explicitly connected with the Dark Lord, Draco knew his mother had enough connections to people with questionable morals that allowed her to learn far more than most.

Draco snuck glances at Karkaroff and Snape throughout the rest of the period, but neither of them gave anything away, except thinly veiled annoyance. He tried to leave slowly once the class was dismissed, but he had no luck—Snape would not risk whatever conversation Karkaroff wanted to have happening while students were in the class.

Draco allowed himself to be jostled out with the rest of the students and had walked down several corridors before he realised he wasn’t walking in any particular direction. It was the end of the day and a Friday afternoon—he didn’t have anywhere in particular that he was needed. He began to follow the other Slytherins to the common room but fell back after a moment. Blaise looked back at him quizzically but Draco simply shook his head and allowed himself to be separated from the group.

Once he felt there was a safe distance between him and the Slytherins, he turned around and made his way back to the dungeons—not to the potions classroom, but to the classroom he knew would be empty. He reached the classroom without running into anyone and shut the door carefully behind him—he knew it was unlikely, but he hoped that if he waited here, Hermione might show up. They hadn’t made any plans to study—and if he was being completely honest, Draco didn’t feel much like studying on a Friday afternoon—but he and Hermione had been meeting here so regularly in the past week that he hoped she might turn up anyway.

He set his bag down and pulled out some parchment and a quill—he didn’t want to study, but it had been a while since he’d had time to draw. He began to sketch absent-mindedly and before long he had drawn a far too sweet looking dragon—he had been aiming for vicious but it hadn’t quite worked out. It looked similar to the ones he had drawn for Hermione last year and he smiled at the memory—apparently she even influenced his drawings.

A sound from behind him made Draco whip his head around and he saw the door opening. Despite his hopes that Hermione would visit, he was shocked to see her walk through the door. She didn’t look surprised to see him, however—she must have expected him to be waiting there.

“Hi,” she said, shutting the door behind her.

She wasn’t yelling at him—this seemed to be a good sign.

“Hi—how are you?” Draco asked, perhaps too earnestly.

Hermione winced.

“Fine—I’ve had better days but really, it’s only Skeeter. I don’t really care what she says,” Hermione said, sounding casual despite the sour expression on her face.

“I’m sorry—it was awful and Snape and the rest of them made it so much worse,” Draco said quickly.

“Well I can’t be surprised by Snape and Pansy taking any opportunity to tease me,” Hermione said, shrugging.

“You’re really okay with it all?”

“I’m furious at Skeeter—I tell you, I’m going to figure out how she’s getting onto the grounds,” Hermione said, sounding angry for the first time.

“Isn’t she banned from the grounds?”

“Yes—but how else is she figuring all this out and getting these interviews?”

Draco stared—he hadn’t thought about that.

“I don’t know.”

“Damn—I was hoping you could give me a clue,” Hermione said, disappointed.

Draco shook his head. “I’ll try to ask around,” he offered and Hermione beamed at him. He instantly felt guilty—she should be furious at him, not pleased.

“I should tell you—I’m really sorry about the article and I wanted—”

“Forget about it—it’s not your fault,” Hermione cut him off.

“I know, but I—”

“We’re okay, Draco,” Hermione said and Draco was tempted to leave it at that—he would have, if the guilt wasn’t still so present in his mind.

“I know it’s not my fault, but I’m sorry I didn’t warn you,” Draco said quickly, before she could cut him off again.

This caused Hermione to pause.

“Warn me?” she asked, confused,

“I only found out this morning and I wanted to tell you before but every time I saw you, you were with Potter and Weasley. If I’d warned you, you wouldn’t have been reading it in potions and then Snape wouldn’t have caught you and…” Draco trailed off, not wanting to recount everything that had happened after Snape had taken the magazine.

“Oh,” was all Hermione said.

“I’m sorry—I only thought after that I could have sent you a note or something,” Draco said miserably.

“Don’t be stupid—like you said, I was with Harry and Ron and they would have seen it. If you only found out this morning then there was really nothing you could do,” Hermione said simply.

“I don’t like that I couldn’t do anything,” Draco said, still feeling guilty, “I hate knowing you might get hurt and not being able to say anything.”

“It’s okay, really—I wasn’t hurt by it,” Hermione reassured him.

“You’re not angry with me?”

“No—I know you would have told me if you could.”

Draco nodded quickly. Hermione looked lost in thought for a moment.

“What do you know about Karkaroff?” she asked after a moment.

Draco looked at her, startled by the sudden change of subject.

“I know it’s probably not good news if he and Snape have something to talk about urgently,” Draco said, nervous to reveal too much to her—this kind of knowledge could endanger her if anyone found out she knew.

“Harry hung back and overheard part of their conversation,” she said thoughtfully.

Draco shook his head—of course Potter had found a way to eavesdrop.

“What did he hear?” he pressed.

“He couldn’t make out much of it—they were talking about something on his arm, about it being clear.”

Draco’s face paled—he could only think of one thing that they would be looking at on Karkaroff’s arm.

“Which arm?” he asked quickly.

Hermione looked at him oddly. “Harry didn’t say. Why?”

“I just had a thought—but it might be wrong. What did Potter think?”

“He wasn’t sure but said the whole thing seemed suspicious. We’re going to ask—”

Hermione suddenly stopped herself and looked nervous.

“Yes?” Draco prompted.

“Nothing, sorry—we were just thinking of asking Mr Weasley or someone who might know more.”

Draco couldn’t help but feel she was hiding something, but he supposed he also wasn’t telling her everything he suspected. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her with this information, rather that once she knew it, she would be compelled to tell Potter and Weasley and that would then raise the uncomfortable question of how she learnt it.

“What’s this?” Hermione asked, leaning over his desk to look at what he’d been drawing.

Draco glanced at it, blushing—it was far from his best work.

“Just something I was drawing,” he said, moving to push it into his bag.

“Is it Norbert?” Hermione asked excitedly.

“I didn’t intend for it to be, but apparently he’s the only dragon I can draw these days.”

Hermione laughed and Draco couldn’t help but smile at the sound.

“It’s brilliant!” she said, picking up his quill. “But it’s missing something.”

She bent over the paper so he couldn’t see and after a minute, she moved away so Draco could see the picture. He looked at it and turned to Hermione, laughing—she had added a small figure on a broomstick flying away from the dragon, clutching an egg.

“I think the dragon Potter fought was a little more vicious,” he remarked.

“I agree—but it would have been a lot more fun with one as sweet as this!”

Draco shook his head. “I would certainly have pitied this dragon against Potter.”

Hermione looked at him, shocked.

“Did you just say something semi-nice about Harry?”

Draco thought back over what he had said, realising its meaning.

“Absolutely not,” he lied. “I just think it would be cruel to steal an egg from such a nice dragon.”

Hermione laughed again and sat beside him.

“So it’s only okay to steal an egg from a nesting dragon if the dragon is mean?” she asked.

“I never said that! I wouldn’t advise anyone steal an egg from a dragon—except maybe Potter,” he said, though his voice lacked the usual contempt that surrounded any comment about Potter.

“I can’t believe you want Harry injured anymore—I told you that you and he would get along if you tried!”

“I am not trying to be his friend,” Draco said crankily.

“Good,” Hermione said. “I don’t know if he’s quite there yet.”

Draco shook his head at her and this time when she laughed, she was so close that he could feel her breath on his face. He stiffened and looked down at the drawing. He didn’t know when they had moved so close together, but he was suddenly acutely aware of her leaning against him. A silence fell between them and Draco felt a desire to stay in this moment as long as she would let him. He had rarely felt so comfortable and he allowed himself to lean slightly into Hermione, not quite looking at her. If he closed his eyes for a moment, he might believe that she liked him too—but there was no point in wishing, so Draco fixed his eyes ahead of him and stayed as he was. She may not see him as any more than a friend, but he wasn’t going to be the one to break this moment.


	22. Nothing Risked, Nothing Gained

Hermione sat at breakfast, trying to make polite conversation with Ron—they’d argued the day before about house-elves again and she didn’t want to be the one to start another disagreement. Harry hadn’t come back for hours after he’d left to send food to Sirius and she was fairly certain it was because of her and Ron. Hermione often forgot how much he hated it when they argued—it had become a part of how Ron and Hermione interacted, with them both rarely taking offence, but Harry never seemed to get used to it. Hermione would often find herself laughing about their arguments—Harry, however, didn’t seem to find them funny. She recalled him mentioning once that it reminded him of Privet Drive, but he had refused to elaborate when she asked.

Hermione and Ron fell into pointless arguments that were quickly forgotten so often that she never thought anything of it—she knew it wouldn’t harm her friendship with Ron—but she rarely thought about how it affected Harry. She’d realised after he’d spent the previous night avoiding them that she ought to make an effort not to bicker with Ron so much—at least for Harry’s sake.

She wasn’t sure if Ron had come to the same conclusion or if he was just following her lead, because neither of them brought up the argument over breakfast. Hermione scanned the ceiling for any early owls as she added bacon to her plate, but they had not yet arrived. She’d decided over the weekend to buy a subscription to the Daily Prophet, tired of hearing everything they wrote about Harry from the Slytherins—she supposed reading it herself would save her and Draco from the awkward conversations where he had to tell her what they printed.

“Percy won’t’ve had time to answer yet. We only sent Hedwig yesterday,” Ron said and Hermione shifted her eyes from the ceiling to look at him.

She’d almost forgotten they’d written to Percy the day before—their meeting with Sirius had prompted them to ask him about Mr Crouch. She knew Hedwig wouldn’t have made it back from London already and shook her head at Ron, telling him it was the Prophet she was waiting for.

A moment later, the owls began flooding in and Harry pointed out one making a beeline for Hermione. She reached to grab the newspaper, but realised there was none—this owl was delivering her a letter. She looked at it quizzically, but was distracted when three more owls flew down beside it. Hermione looked up at Harry and Ron, who were staring at her with identical confused expressions.

She reached for the first owl and took the letter, looking at it with a furrowed brow. There was no doubt the letter was for her—the owl was pushing it closer and closer—but she couldn’t think of anyone who’d want to send her a letter. She opened it and stared in confusion at the odd letters—they appeared to have been cut out of a newspaper.

Hermione felt her face turn bright red as she read the words on the page—she felt herself sputtering, trying not to overreact. Ron reached for the letter and bent over it with Harry. She reached for the next letter, dreading what it would say—it too, was printed with cruel taunts. Witch Weekly’s readers were apparently very loyal to Harry Potter.

“They’re all like it!” she said, showing Ron the next letter as she pulled open another.

A burning sensation spread across her hands and she cried out as a yellow liquid spread over them. Ron looked up at her quickly.

“Undiluted bobotuber pus!” he said, examining the envelope.

Hermione looked back down at her hands, which were now covered in boils as the pus spread painfully across her skin. She reached for a napkin to attempt to rub it off, but it was too late—the pus had already spread to her wrists. She tried to fight back tears as she massaged her hands, unsure if it was the words she had read or the pain causing them.

“You better get to the Hospital Wing,” Harry said.

Hermione nodded and tried to hold her hands close to her chest as she sped from the hall—she didn’t want the Slytherins to see and give them another thing to tease her about. Thankfully, she didn’t pass anyone on her way to the Hospital Wing—by the time she arrived, her hands were throbbing painfully. Madam Pomfrey took one look and identified the cause immediately. She sat Hermione on a bed, whilst she fetched the appropriate dittanies and potions.

Hermione sat, feeling sorry for herself as Madam Pomfrey gently applied a number of treatments. Normally, she would have asked about what the matron was using, but she couldn’t bring herself to be curious—the words she had read were still swimming in front of her eyes—the way they had used Muggle as though it was the harshest insult, her blood her biggest failure. She’d been called all sorts of names by Pansy over the years, but these people were strangers—it wasn’t just schoolyards taunts, these were adults who hated her enough to put it in writing and hated her more because of her parents.

These were the people who stopped her from openly being friends with Draco—it wasn’t even an uncommon thought. There were many in the wizarding world who disapproved of her, hated her on sight. She was hated for being born to Muggles and acknowledging their friendship would risk everything for Draco—she might receive some nasty letters, but he would be disowned for it.

Madam Pomfrey wrapped her hands in something soft and she felt some of the pain dissipate, though her mind continued to turn rapidly. The matron said something about leaving the treatment on for a period of time and Hermione found herself nodding. She didn’t really care if she sat there for a while—she didn’t much feel like seeing anyone. Ron and Harry would only worry and attempt to cheer her up, which was sweet, but she was in no mood to laugh with them. If she was in lessons, she would have to see Draco, of course, and she would have to pretend to hate him. Maybe they would speak afterwards, but bringing up the words that hurt her would only create tension between them and she was too exhausted to pretend, too tired to argue about his family.

Hermione didn’t know how long she sat there, but after a while Madam Pomfrey returned and removed the treatment. She carefully bandaged Hermione’s hands and gave her strict instructions not to use them—she’d written a note for Hermione to give her Professors. Hermione smiled and thanked her, promising to return later to have the bandages checked.

She awkwardly picked up her bag, trying not to use her hands and walked slowly to Care of Magical Creatures—she had no desire to reach the class quickly. She felt guilty for a moment, thinking of Hagrid, but pushed it aside—she was sure he would understand her reluctance had nothing to do with his class. She was dreading seeing the Slytherins and enduring more taunts about her supposed love triangle. Most of all she didn’t want to see Draco—she couldn’t bring herself to consider why, but somehow his was the reaction she feared the most.

\---

Hermione managed to avoid the Slytherins for most of the day—the Care of Magical Creatures Class was followed by lunch and an afternoon in the greenhouses. The Hufflepuffs they shared the class with were too polite to openly gossip about her, though she did notice a few more glances her way than usual. She was grateful when the class ended, looking forward to the day almost being over. She packed up so quickly that it wasn’t until she was halfway to the castle that she realised she had left her dragon-hide gloves in the greenhouse. She waved Ron and Harry off when they offered to accompany her back—she felt like being alone for a while and hoped the walk might clear her head.

The greenhouse was empty when Hermione entered and she quickly located her gloves underneath the bench they’d been working at. She was about to leave when she saw the outline of someone moving outside the greenhouse. Hermione paused, not wanting to have to speak to whoever it was—she supposed she could wait until they passed to leave. It was only when the figure drew nearer that she realised they were not walking past—they were headed straight for the greenhouse she was in. Hermione hurriedly began walking to the door, not wanting Professor Sprout to accuse her of loitering in the greenhouse.

Hermione stopped near the door—the figure didn’t look like Professor Sprout at all. She was trying to decide what to do when the door was pulled open and Draco stepped inside. Hermione stepped back, surprised.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, looking at him curiously.

“Looking for you,” Draco responded simply.

“Me?” Hermione asked, bemused.

“Yeah, I saw you turn back and I know something happened this morning—are you injured?”

Hermione stared, shocked by the realisation that Draco had come all this way to check on her.

“I’m okay,” Hermione said, looking down at her hands and instantly wishing she hadn’t.

“What happened?” Draco asked, reaching for her hands to look at them.

“It’s nothing—it’s stupid. I just got some letters today from some people who apparently don’t like me all that much,” Hermione said, trying to brush it off.

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, concerned.

“Apparently Witch Weekly readers are very loyal to Harry.”

Realisation dawned on Draco’s face. “You’re kidding. People wrote to you about that?”

“And sent some surprising gifts,” Hermione added.

Draco looked back down at her hands, still clasped in his own. “Is that what did this? Someone put something in the letter to hurt you?” he asked.

Hermione nodded and looked away, embarrassed.

“Those people are pathetic,” Draco said through gritted teeth.

Hermione shook her head, trying to clear it. “The whole thing is stupid—I never should have gone to the Yule Ball with Viktor, I should have known that Skeeter woman would cook up something like this.”

Draco seemed to hesitate for a moment, as though he was deciding what to say.

“You can’t blame yourself for what she wrote,” he said after a moment. “She’ll make up anything about anyone.”

“I suppose,” Hermione said uncertainly.

She looked back down and noticed Draco’s hands were still gently clasping her own—she expected it to hurt, but he was holding them so carefully that it was far more comforting than painful. She knew she ought to pull away, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to. She looked back up at Draco, feeling a blush spread across her face.

“I should go—who knows how long it will take me to do my homework with all this,” she said, glancing back at her hands.

“Why don’t I help?” Draco offered.

Hermione smiled. “Don’t you think the professors will recognise your writing?”

“I’ll shrink it down so it’s as tiny as yours.”

Hermione paused, considering it for a moment—she didn’t particularly feel like being around the crowded Gryffindor common room at the moment and while she’d told Harry and Ron she’d see them there after she got her gloves, she felt certain they’d understand if she didn’t come back straight away. She really had the afternoon to do whatever she wanted and right now, all she wanted was to stay with Draco.

\---

Draco and Hermione had been working together for almost an hour, with Hermione carefully reading through her notes before allowing Draco to write an answer, when a thought struck her. Ever since she had read the article in Witch Weekly, she had been trying to figure out how Rita Skeeter knew what she did—it only now occurred to her that Draco may know. He was friends with the Slytherins who had done interviews with her when she wasn’t supposed to be allowed on the grounds—perhaps they had told him how they met with the horrible woman.

“Draco?” Hermione asked tentatively.

“Yeah?” he replied, not looking up from the answer he was concentrating on writing.

“I was thinking about Rita Skeeter,” Hermione began, unsure exactly what to ask.

Draco looked sideways at her.

“What she wrote was garbage,” he said carefully.

“I know—it’s just, I don’t know how she’s getting this information,” Hermione said. “I mean, she’s twisting it, but some of it is true.”

“Like what?” Draco asked slowly.

Hermione looked at him, but it seemed as though he was purposely avoiding making eye contact. Hermione realised what she said and hurried to correct herself.

“Well, I’m not dating Viktor or Harry—that’s ridiculous.” Hermione hesitated before continuing, “But Viktor did ask me to visit him over the summer—how could she have known that?”

Draco’s eyes were fixed ahead as he answered.

“Perhaps it’s just a lucky guess?” he suggested. “But it isn’t really all that far fetched to think that the two of you are dating.”

Hermione sputtered. “We are not! And it would be a very lucky guess, considering she had the exact time and location he asked me right,” she said quickly.

“Skeeter’s horrible but really, what’s anyone supposed to think? You went to the Yule Ball with him, you were the person he’d miss the most and then he invites you to visit him?” Draco asked.

Hermione couldn’t quite place what it was, but there was something off in Draco’s tone—she just wished he would look at her.

“It’s not my fault I was chosen for the task! And I told you, I decided after the ball we were better off as friends.”

Draco nodded. “Yeah, I know that—I’m just saying, it’s not hard to see how people would think that.”

“Well, I wish they wouldn’t! And I wish I knew how she was finding this all out!” Hermione said angrily.

“I wish I could tell you, but I haven’t done any interviews—I didn’t even know the others had until Blaise told me about it afterwards,” Draco said.

“Could you find out?” Hermione asked, staring at him.

He met her eyes for a moment and looked away.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice distant. “Yeah, of course—I’ll see if any of them will tell me.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said softly.

He nodded but still didn’t look at her. Hermione reached with one of her bandaged hands and placed it on his. He looked at her sharply, this time not looking away and holding her gaze steadily.

“What?” he asked softly.

Hermione just shook her head, unsure if she could explain the thoughts running through her mind.

“Nothing—let’s finish these questions.”

\---

Hermione looked between Harry and Ron nervously—it had been hours since Harry had returned from his meeting about the third task and he’d only just finished explaining to them the events of Crouch’s disappearance. The two boys were throwing theories back and forth, but Hermione could not bring herself to join in—the whole thing made no sense and made her incredibly uneasy. She tuned Harry and Ron out for a moment and recalled what Harry had told them when he’d arrived—he and Viktor had been speaking when Crouch appeared, senseless and out of his mind. Harry had gone to find Dumbledore and returned to find Crouch missing and Viktor stupefied.

“Why were you and Viktor talking?” Hermione asked, cutting across whatever Ron was saying.

Harry looked at her uncertainly. “Well—he wanted to talk about you,” he said, shooting a nervous look in Ron’s direction.

“Me?” Hermione asked.

“He wanted to ask about that article—if you and I were—well—you know,” Harry said, looking uncomfortable.

Hermione gave him a bemused look. “He should know that we’re not—besides, we’re only friends so that shouldn’t matter to him.”

“Well, I don’t think he considers you just a friend,” Harry said, looking as though he was trying not to laugh.

Hermione felt her face turn red and decided to quickly change the subject.

“We ought to owl Sirius—I’m sure it’ll be in the papers, but he’ll want to hear it from you.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll get up early to owl him.”

“We’ll come too,” Hermione said, nodding to Ron.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Ron agreed.

They made plans to meet at dawn the next morning and after another hour of speculation, Hermione finally gave in to tiredness and went to bed. Despite the heaviness in her eyes, however, she felt unable to fall asleep—but it wasn’t just their conversation that was keeping her up. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the soft pressure of Draco’s hands around her own. She didn’t know if she wanted to consider what this meant—what anything that had passed between them may point towards—but she couldn’t help but feel a flutter in her stomach as she recalled him holding on, just for a second too long.

\---

“Can we please pick another spell now?” Ron complained, rubbing his back as he stood up.

Hermione looked up at him from the textbook she was reading and noticed he had missed the pillows again. They had been practising defensive spells with Harry daily since he had found out about the third task. She knew they technically weren’t supposed to help, but she couldn’t stand the idea of Harry going against seventh years on his own—besides, she believed Sirius when he said there was something wrong with the whole situation and she was determined to keep Harry safe.

“What spell are you looking at now, Hermione?” Harry asked, leaning over her shoulder.

Hermione tilted the book so he could see.

“I think this one could be useful—you can use it as a kind of compass,” Hermione said, thoughtfully.

“That’ll be great in the maze—I’ll just have to know what direction is the centre and I can use that to stay on track,” Harry said, reaching for the textbook.

“What’s a compass?” Ron asked, walking gingerly over to them.

“It’s a Muggle thing—you can use it to find out what direction you’re going in,” Hermione said, trying not to smile.

“Right—well that’ll be plenty helpful,” Ron agreed. “Why don’t you try it Harry?”

Harry nodded and set down the book, pulling out his wand. As the book landed on the desk, a piece of paper slid out the side. Hermione picked it up quickly, almost certain she knew who it was from. In the past couple of weeks, Hermione had spent so much time helping Harry and studying for her exams that she’d hardly had a spare moment to speak to Draco. After a few days without speaking, Hermione had found a note slipped into one of her textbooks—since then, she and Draco had taken to exchanging notes when they could. She didn’t know when he had slipped this one into her textbook, but she couldn’t help but smile as she carefully hid it in her bag.

“What are you smiling about?” Ron asked, looking at Hermione quizzically.

Hermione blushed.

“I’m just proud of Harry—you’re really improving! You know, I think you have a real chance of winning.”

Ron gave her an odd look, before turning to Harry to agree. Hermione looked away, relieved, and tried to keep her face passive as she thought about returning to the dormitory to read what Draco had written.

\---

It wasn’t until much later that night that Hermione had a moment alone—Harry and Ron had wanted to study together, so they had stayed in the common room until late, going over their notes. Hermione finally said she was too tired to continue and excused herself to bed, while the boys began a game of exploding snap. She had just sat down to read Draco’s note, when the door swung open and Ginny walked in. Hermione quickly slid the note under her pillow and looked at Ginny expectantly.

“What’s up?” she asked, trying not to sound irritated.

“There’s something going on with you,” Ginny said, sitting down on the end of Hermione’s bed.

“What do you mean?” Hermione sputtered. “There’s nothing going on with me.”

“Yes there is!” Ginny insisted, “You’ve been acting all secretive and you keep smiling when you think no one is looking.”

Hermione felt her mouth drop open—had she really been that obvious?

“It’s nothing,” Hermione said weakly.

“Liar,” Ginny teased. “Out with it—what are you keeping secret?”

“Nothing!” Hermione repeated, hoping she sounded more convincing.

Ginny shook her head and grinned mischievously. “So you’re not going to tell me where you keep disappearing to? And don’t say the library because the other day when I was looking for you, Ron said you were there and yet I couldn’t see you anywhere.”

“Maybe you just didn’t see me,” Hermione said, not meeting her gaze.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Ginny commented.

Hermione looked down, trying to decide if she ought to tell Ginny—she knew she could trust her, but she didn’t know if she was ready to talk about this. Hermione had spent the past couple of weeks trying to make sense of her own feelings and now Ginny was here, demanding an explanation.

“What is it, Hermione?” Ginny persisted.

“I don’t really know,” Hermione said slowly.

“What do you mean?” Ginny asked, looking confused.

“I don’t know exactly what is going on,” Hermione said, still not sure how much she wanted to reveal.

“So there is something going on,” Ginny confirmed.

“Maybe,” Hermione said.

“What’s this about?” Ginny asked.

Hermione took a deep breath. “Remember a while ago, I told you about a friend I had—we had an argument last year?” Hermione began.

Ginny thought for a second. “Yeah—didn’t you say you couldn’t decide if you believed they were who they said they were?”

“Yeah—I do believe them now, we’re a lot closer than we were then,” Hermione said, realising as she did how far she and Draco had come since their friendship had begun. She remembered the sense of dread she used to feel when he approached and how hard she worked to avoid him—now his presence calmed her and she sought him out for comfort.

“Okay—so what’s the problem?” Ginny asked.

“The problem is—the problem is I might be falling for him,” Hermione said, letting the words out in one breath, hardly believing she could speak what she hadn’t dared to think.

Ginny stared at her. “So I guess you’re over Krum, then?”

“Uh—yeah. He was nice but—he wanted to move a bit faster than I was willing to.”

Ginny scrunched her nose and shook her head. “That’s unfortunate—but this new guy? Or old friend, I guess?”

Hermione let thoughts of Viktor leave her mind and turned it back to Draco. “It’s just—he’s so sweet and we get along so well and recently I’ve felt that maybe there’s something more there, but it’s just…” Hermione trailed off, not sure how to put all the problems holding her and Draco apart from even being friends into words.

“Just what?” Ginny repeated.

“There’s a lot of reasons for us not to even be friends—it’s so complicated and we’ve had to hide the fact that we’re friends because neither of us could stand the consequences of people knowing. I just feel I’ve made it so much worse by adding feelings to it,” Hermione said tiredly.

“Do you know how he feels?” Ginny asked softly.

“No—he probably doesn’t see me that way at all,” Hermione answered, a wave of nerves rushing over her as she spoke.

“But you think he might?” Ginny prompted.

“I don’t know—like I said, things have been different lately and sometimes it seems like what he’s saying may have another meaning,” Hermione said, recalling the feeling of his gentle hands on hers.

“Is he a pure-blood?” Ginny asked, her voice carefully soft.

Hermione nodded, looking away from Ginny.

“Does he care that you’re—”

“Muggle-born? I don’t think so—but everyone else would. His family, his friends—everyone. I’d put him in danger if I risked anything.”

“What if he’s willing to risk it?” Ginny asked after a moment.

Hermione looked back up at her. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Then I don’t think I could say no.”


	23. Outside the Hospital Wing (Part 2A)

_“I'll understand if you don't want me. But I will be heartbroken. You are all I ever dreamed of and hoped for. You are much, much more.”_

_Maeve Binchy_

Draco’s knife slid across his plate a little too viciously as he ate dinner. The Slytherins around him were talking loudly, predicting what the upcoming Skeeter story would be about. Of course, they all knew—they had just come from an interview with her. Thinking about the interview made Draco even more furious—he’d been walking to class when Vincent and Greg had pulled him aside and dragged him outside to talk to someone. It wasn’t until he’d left the castle that he discovered the someone he was speaking to was a journalist disguised as a beetle.

As soon as he realised what was happening, Draco knew that he would have no choice—if he were to refuse an interview, Skeeter would surely make him her next target. The last thing he needed was a nosy journalist digging into his life and questioning him. He tried his best to speak carefully, to let Vincent, Greg and Pansy take the lead but Skeeter was determined to hear something from him. He was sure she only wanted his comment for his name and though he tried his best to find a balance between maintaining the image that was expected of him and not outright insulting anyone, it seemed impossible. He felt certain Skeeter would twist everything he said anyway.

The Slytherins around him laughed loudly as Pansy recalled how she’d wittily insulted Potter. Draco tried his best to keep his face passive, but he knew he was failing. He couldn’t stop imagining what Hermione would think when she read this article. He could tell her he didn’t mean it—that Skeeter twisted what he said—but he couldn’t take back what he had done, no matter how unwilling he was. He’d hoped at least that he would be able to tell Hermione how Skeeter was getting into the castle, having finally learnt her trick, but he had almost immediately learnt why it was such a well-kept secret—Skeeter had transformed just long enough to cast a tongue-tying curse on him, preventing him from ever telling anyone about her Animagus form.

Draco dropped his fork and stood up, unable to sit and listen to his friends anymore. He walked out of the Great Hall without saying goodbye and strode towards the dungeons—he didn’t know how long he’d have privacy in the Slytherin dorms, but it was the only place he could guarantee it for the time being. He didn’t want to go to the dungeon classroom on the off-chance Hermione was there—he couldn’t bear having to lie to her.

He reached his dorm room without seeing anyone and collapsed onto his bed. He hoped for at least a few minutes of privacy—a chance to not have to pretend he was someone who he was increasingly beginning to hate. His wish was not granted however—he had hardly been there for a minute when he heard the dormitory door swing open. Draco moved his head to look at who had arrived and was relieved to see Blaise walking over to him.

“Are you going to tell me why you stormed out of dinner?” Blaise asked when Draco didn’t speak.

“Nope,” Draco said, unsure how exactly to explain that he couldn’t tell Blaise.

“Ah you see, that’s where you’re wrong,” Blaise said simply.

Draco rolled his eyes at him. “I said no because I can’t,” Draco tried to explain.

“I thought we didn’t keep secrets,” Blaise said, mock offended.

“I’m not willingly keeping a secret, trust me,” Draco muttered.

“Ah—I think I understand,” Blaise said, nodding.

“Really?” Draco said disbelievingly.

“Well I couldn’t help but notice several Slytherins missing from Charms and given that Skeeter is clearly using some sort of curse to stop people revealing how she’s getting into the castle, it seems fairly obvious what secret you’re keeping,” Blaise said to a shocked Draco.

“How the hell do you know that?” Draco asked, incredulous.

“I figured out the Skeeter business weeks ago—it seems obvious that she wouldn’t trust anyone to reveal her secrets and it is very unlike our friends to keep quiet about knowing privileged information,” Blaise said matter-of-factly.

“You already knew all that?” Draco asked.

“That’s what I just said,” Blaise confirmed.

Draco shook his head. “Then yes, that’s why I’m angry,” he said, trying to choose his words carefully.

“Because she stopped you from exposing her?” Blaise asked.

“Well, sort of—but mostly because I had to do the interview in the first place. I didn’t even know it was planned until I was there,” Draco said, running his hands through his hair.

“So why didn’t you leave?” Blaise asked, watching him carefully.

“Because if I left, she’d write her next story about me and if she looks too close…well, I don’t want her to find out my secrets,” Draco said cautiously.

“Your secret crush, you mean?” Blaise teased.

“Sort of—but really, if she looked closely enough I’m sure she’d see everything,” Draco said slowly.

“Everything?” Blaise questioned.

“That I’m not the perfect pure-blood son,” Draco said flatly.

“Oh,” Blaise said softly.

Draco knew he didn’t need to explain what that meant to Blaise—he could hardly believe he’d admitted so much to him. He looked down, too nervous to meet Blaise’s eyes.

“Do you hate that I said that?” Draco asked after a moment.

There was silence and Draco felt nervous.

“No—I suppose I guessed at some of it,” Blaise said, breaking the silence.

“You did?” Draco asked, surprised.

“You said anyone that looked closely enough would see it—I did,” Blaise said simply.

“And you don’t think it’s horrible?” Draco asked quietly.

“I think it’s difficult,” Blaise replied.

The door opened before Draco could ask Blaise to elaborate and their conversation was replaced by the chatter of their dormmates.

\---

Draco clutched the note Hermione had slipped him in Arithmancy so tightly he could feel it being crushed in his hand. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d been avoiding her ever since he’d been forced to do the interview with Skeeter. When she asked him if they could meet to study together, however, he found himself unable to say no. He walked down the corridors, nerves filling his body—he had to tell her about the interview. It would be so much worse if she was blindsided by whatever cruel words Skeeter would give him in her article.

He took a deep breath when he reached the dungeon classroom and stepped inside. Hermione’s warm smile when he walked through the door almost made him forget what he’d been nervous about—he just wanted to stay here with her, talking and studying until nightfall. She was saying something about their Arithmancy class and Draco couldn’t help but laugh as she imitated their professor—he’d never expected Hermione to joke about professors, but he supposed she was a lot of things he hadn’t expected. He wished he could delay the moment he had to tell her what was on his mind, but he knew he needed to get it over with.

“I have to tell you something,” Draco said hesitantly.

Hermione’s brow furrowed in concern. “What is it?”

Draco paused, trying to choose his words carefully.

“You know how the Slytherins have been doing interviews with Skeeter?” he began.

Hermione’s face darkened. “I know they’ve been doing interviews, I would love to know how.”

“Well, the other day they did another one and—and I kind of had to do it too.”

“You did an interview with Skeeter?” Hermione asked, her expression unreadable.

“Yeah—but none of it was true! The other Slytherins just grabbed me and I couldn’t say no because then she would question why. I promise you though, I didn’t want to and she’s going to completely twist everything I told her,” Draco said quickly.

“I know you wouldn’t actually do an interview with Skeeter,” Hermione said, unbothered, “but how did she manage to interview you?”

Draco felt his tongue lock in his mouth before he had even thought to answer—Skeeter’s curse worked well. Hermione was staring at him confused—after a moment, he felt his tongue relax and was able to speak.

“She casts a tongue-tying curse on us all so we can’t tell anyone,” Draco said, frustrated.

“You’re kidding me!” Hermione exclaimed.

“No—I can’t say anything about it,” Draco replied.

“Well, I’ll just have to keep working to figure it out then—I’ll get her,” Hermione said resolutely.

Draco smiled at the determination on her face. “So you’re not upset with me?” he asked nervously. “For doing the interview?”

“No—why would I be? I know you didn’t want to,” Hermione said simply.

“She’ll make me seem horrid—like I believe everything my family does,” Draco said bitterly.

Hermione stared at him and Draco suddenly realised what he said.

“You disagree with your family?” Hermione asked cautiously.

“I love my family—but I don’t share all of their views. Of course, I can’t say that to them,” Draco said, looking away from Hermione.

“What would happen if you did?” Hermione asked softly.

“I don’t know—some parents would abandon their children for thinking such things. I’d hope mine wouldn’t, but I don’t know if they would accept it. I’m not really ready to find out,” Draco said.

“That’s okay,” Hermione said reassuringly. “You don’t want to lose your family.”

Draco nodded. He felt uncomfortable, having never shared his thoughts so openly. He looked around and picked up his textbook.

“So—Arithmancy? Want to tell me how Professor Vector explained it again?"

Hermione laughed and leaned over to look at his textbook, both ignoring her textbook sitting abandoned in front of her.

\---

There was a noise and a flash from the centre of the maze—and then silence. Krum and Fleur had been collected from the maze already—both had disappeared into medical tents and not returned. The crowd was restless, only partly able to see into the maze from their stands and relying more on noises and flashes to report where the champions were. They had been watching Harry and Cedric race to the cup—there was some sort of pause—and then they were both gone.

People were standing up now, trying to get a better view into the maze. Draco looked further down and could see a flurry of teachers moving on the pitch below. He couldn’t see them well, but something about the way they were moving seemed to suggest panic. He tore his eyes from the pitch and looked around the stands for Hermione—he knew she would be worrying about Harry and wherever Harry was, danger seemed to follow. He didn’t want her to be in close proximity this time.

His eyes darted around frantically, but he couldn’t spot her—the stands were far too crowded and night had fallen. He leant back in his seat and listened carefully to the conversation around him, not willing to take any part in it. He could hear people wondering if this was some sort of final task—perhaps a tiebreaker. He hoped they were right, but whenever he glanced down, he saw every professor and ministry official talking and pacing as though they were trying to make sense of the situation themselves. Several of them took flight and flew over the maze carefully, causing another increase in chatter from the crowd.

Draco didn’t know how long they waited there, but after some time there was a sudden commotion outside the maze. Everyone leapt to their feet, but whatever was happening was blocked by ministry officials and professors. A horrible cry tore through the night air, silencing the crowd for a moment as dread filled every person—it was a sound so pained that it could only suggest one thing.

Whispers began passing up through the stands—it was Potter and Diggory. They were back—Potter had disappeared somewhere almost immediately and the sound of Diggory’s father’s sobs were carrying through the night air. Even the nervous whispers were too scared to say the worst—Diggory couldn’t possibly be dead.

But then a stretcher was carried out—a white cloth draped so carefully over it that it could not be mistaken. The stadium was silent, then suddenly cries were heard everywhere, pained yells, loud sobs and cries. Students were pushing to reach each other, to see if it was true, to try to leave—no one wanted to be there anymore.

Draco’s head shot around, looking for Hermione more desperately than ever. Potter was certainly missing and he knew Hermione would be determined to find him. But something horrid had happened—something Potter only just seemed to escape. What would happen to Hermione if she followed him now?

He felt a tug on his sleeve and whipped his head around. Blaise was leaning close to him and Draco moved his head so he could hear him speak.

“I saw her with Weasley—trying to get to the professors. They’ll be looking for Potter but he’s most likely in the Hospital Wing—the professors will make sure they don’t run into danger,” Blaise said quickly and quietly.

Draco nodded but he couldn’t help thinking that the professors had already failed to keep one student safe. An announcement rang out, ordering them all back to their dormitories and Draco was forced to move with the crowd. He knew he couldn’t return to the Slytherin common room—once he was there, he was certain he wouldn’t be able to leave and he needed to speak to Hermione tonight. He needed to know she was safe—he needed to know she was okay.

He waited until the swarm of students entered the Entrance Hall, then slipped into an alcove behind a curtain as the horde pushed forwards. He was certain no one had spotted him. He waited there, trying to remain still and silent, until he heard the sound of the last student leaving the hall. He peaked out and, seeing the coast was clear, quickly moved towards the Hospital Wing—Blaise was right, Potter had most likely been taken here and he was sure Hermione would have followed. He could speak to her when she left—if she left. If Potter was badly injured, she might not leave his side.

Draco reached the corridor adjacent to the Hospital Wing and looked around for another spot to hide in—he saw a broom closet and quickly hid himself inside, leaving the door just open enough so he could see anyone pass outside. After several minutes, he heard the sound of footsteps—it was not Hermione, but Dumbledore walking with Potter and what appeared to be a large, black dog. He heard the doors to the Hospital Wing close and leant against the wall—Hermione would either be following soon or was already in there waiting for Harry. He would have to wait here until she left—hopefully on her own.

Silence fell around him and for the first time, Draco allowed himself to contemplate the night’s events. Something had gone horribly wrong—he’d known that as soon as Potter and Diggory had disappeared from the maze. Only now he let himself acknowledge exactly what that might be—there was only one person he could think of who so desperately wanted to kill Harry, who would so easily murder a schoolkid.

He had hoped the signs pointing towards the Dark Lord regaining power had been wrong—Snape and Karkaroff’s conversations, his father’s careful warnings, the strange occurrences of the year—but he could not deny it any longer. The Dark Lord had returned to power tonight—he did not need anyone to tell him, it was the only logical answer.

The thought terrified him—the things he had been so carefully contemplating inside his own mind now no longer only mattered to his family. His thoughts could save or destroy his life. He didn’t know how long it would be until his own devotion was required, but he felt certain that his family’s views were no longer going to be only political—this was going to be acted on and would define every witch and wizard. He would be asked to provide his unwavering loyalty—he could not offer that with a Muggle-born best friend, however secret they kept their friendship.

Everything would shift drastically now—everything held more weight, every choice, every conversation, every action. He recalled his father’s long sleeves—always carefully pulled to the wrist, his forearm never showing. Draco knew exactly why—he wondered if his arm would ever be branded with the same mark. He wished desperately that it would not be, but how could he avoid it? Had his father sworn their family’s allegiance? Would he already be required to join the Death Eaters?

He shook his head, unable to contemplate these horrors just yet. His mind returned to Hermione, but now he worried about her—her blood-status had always made her a target, but if the Dark Lord had in fact returned, what danger would she be in now? She wouldn’t just be facing insults—she could face death, simply for her parentage. And what would Draco receive for befriending her? For the confusing emotions he felt towards her?

He could not worry about himself now, however—he was here to check on Hermione. He needed to hear that she was okay, know that she was safe. He peered out the door slowly, but there was no sign of any movement from the Hospital Wing. He slipped back inside and tried to wait patiently. After what seemed like an age, he heard a noise from the corridor—possibly a door opening. He moved carefully to peer through the crack in the door as someone walked past. His eyes widened as he recognised who it was.

“Hermione,” he whispered as she passed the broom cupboard.

She stopped, startled, looking around and reaching for her wand. Draco quickly pushed the door open so she could see him. She swung around at the sound, her wand pointed at him.

“Sorry!” Draco said quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you!”

Hermione lowered her wand and breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s okay—I’m just a bit on edge,” she said, glancing around. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Draco said, cautious not to speak above a whisper.

Hermione too seemed nervous to speak in this open corridor—she glanced at the broom cupboard, frowning and then looked down the corridor.

“There’s a classroom just down there,” she suggested.

Draco nodded and followed her toward it. They didn’t speak again until the door was shut behind them. Draco watched her nervously, trying to gauge how she was.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Hermione took a deep breath and shook her head. “Harry—I don’t even know what happened—but I think he could have—”

Her voice became choked and Draco reached for her, unable to stop himself. He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly, feeling her weight pressed against him. She sniffed and rested her head on his shoulder, tucking herself away from the world. Draco felt terrified to move or speak, not wanting to do anything that may upset Hermione. After a moment, she spoke, her voice so soft it was barely intelligible.

“He’s back.”

Draco nodded, his chin brushing against Hermione’s head. “I know,” was all he could say—he hoped desperately it was enough.

He felt her begin to shake in his arms and he pulled her even closer, gripping her as tightly as he could without hurting her, not knowing how to stop the pain she was in but not willing to let her go. Hermione breathed deeply and he felt it on his neck. She was closer than she had ever been to him.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she whispered into his shirt.

“You don’t have to know,” Draco said softly. “You’ve been through enough today.”

He felt Hermione relax in his arms and pull herself away enough to wrap her own around him.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Draco simply nodded, unable to think of anything right to say. He held onto her for what he knew was too long, yet he couldn’t bring himself to let her go—not now when she was safe in his arms. She pulled away from him and he instantly missed her.

“I should probably go back—I just needed to clear my head for a moment while Harry slept,” Hermione said. Draco couldn’t help but think she sounded reluctant.

“You should be with him,” he told her.

She nodded and left the classroom. Draco collapsed onto a desk, his mind racing with a hundred new thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're not finished yet! The second part of this chapter will be up tomorrow...


	24. Outside the Hospital Wing (Part 2B)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the second part of the previous chapter so make sure you've read that one first!

_“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”_

_Jane Austen_

The door swung shut behind Hermione and she immediately missed the warmth of Draco’s embrace. She forced herself down the corridor, but with every step she wanted to return to him. The Hospital Wing held Harry, who looked so pained it exhausted her, and conversations that made her want to scream and cry all at once. She knew she should be with Harry—he needed her most. But he was sleeping and she needed someone else.

She felt her feet turning of their own accord, tracing their path back down the corridor. She had only allowed herself a moment’s comfort with Draco, but she couldn’t help longing for more. When he held her, she felt a sudden, inexplicable sense of peace. Nothing was okay, so how could she feel so comforted in his arms? She could still feel the way he pulled her so tightly towards him—like he’d never let go. The part of her mind that had only recently admitted what she may feel towards him couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more behind that tight embrace—could he perhaps feel the same way?

She reached the classroom and looked through the small window in the door—Draco was sitting just where she left him, deep in thought. She watched him for a moment, wishing she could know what he was thinking—wishing she could decide what exactly she was doing here. Before she knew what she was doing, she had reached for the handle and pushed the door open.

Draco looked up in alarm and stared at her, confused. She stood in the doorway, unable to decide how to explain her return—she couldn’t even explain it to herself. She stood, frozen on the spot—she had come this far, yet couldn’t take a step further. Draco stared at her, his mouth half open as though he was about to ask a question. He stood slowly and walked towards her. Hermione felt her breath catch at the look in his eyes—whatever she was feeling, she could see it mirrored there. Too scared to look away, she held his gaze as he walked towards her.

He stopped, his face so close she could feel his breaths. He was staring at her so intensely, she felt nervous. There was a question in his eyes as he looked at her, allowing her a moment to walk away and pretend this never happened. Hermione didn’t move, her eyes locked on his, and Draco leaned in, closing the small space between them.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed just before he kissed her. His lips pressed against hers, softly at first—as though it was a question. Hermione reached her arms around his neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss, hoping it was enough of an answer for him. His hands were suddenly on her waist, pulling her closer and removing any distance from between them. His cautiousness was replaced by a new intensity and Hermione felt her mind drifting away, everything forgotten except for the feeling of his lips on hers.

He pulled away too soon and Hermione let him only move a few inches, still holding him tightly. He looked down at her, a small smile playing across his lips—Hermione couldn’t help but stare at them, wanting to pull him towards her again. She smiled back at him and he laughed softly, his breath tickling her face.

“I know I said I was leaving…” Hermione trailed off, trying to think of some explanation.

“I never want you to leave,” Draco said, not taking his eyes off her.

“Really?” Hermione asked, hopeful.

Draco nodded and leant to kiss her again. Hermione let herself forget for a moment every reason they shouldn’t be doing this and pressed her lips against his. When they pulled apart, they were breathless. Without Draco so close, she was able to remember what she had been trying to say— that Harry and everyone else waiting for her in the Hospital Wing.

“I probably should…” Hermione paused, unable to finish her sentence.

“Go?” Draco supplied.

Hermione nodded and tore her eyes away from Draco for a moment to look out the door. She looked back at him and was shocked by the intensity in his eyes.

“You can go,” he said, “I understand. But I’ll be in the dungeon classroom tomorrow—if you want to join me.”

Hermione nodded.

“I’ll see you there,” she said.

She knew that was her cue to exit, but she didn’t quite feel ready to leave his arms. She pulled him close a final time, wanting to memorise his embrace before she left. She shut the door behind her, knowing Draco would wait a few minutes to leave. She walked back to the hospital wing, hoping her face would not betray her to the company that awaited her.

\---

Hermione found it far easier than expected to find a moment alone the following day. She and Ron had been sent back to Gryffindor Tower after the Minister of Magic had left—McGonagall insisted they needed sleep and assured them Harry would not wake until morning. They had both headed straight to their dormitories, too exhausted to attempt to speak about the evening’s events. Hermione had been grateful to find her dorm empty, but had no luck falling asleep—her mind was racing, still trying to make sense of everything that had occurred.

She had only recently admitted her feelings to Draco and now she had kissed him, before she could even consider the implications of a relationship—a relationship that would now be more risky than ever. The brief joy and comfort she had experienced with him had been taken away and replaced with a hundred new worries. You-Know-Who’s return made any contact between them dangerous for both—they were now on opposing sides of a rising war.

Hermione knew she wanted to be with Draco—she had said as much to Ginny—but how could they manage this now? What would the world look like for them? Draco’s allegiance would surely be under strict scrutiny—he could not misstep now. Her own blood-status would surely make her a target, not just for You-Know-Who’s supporters, but for Draco’s own family. Everyone he loved hated her just for her blood—how could they ever be together under such circumstances?

Hermione’s mind raced through different scenarios and memories from the night, each more worrying and painful. She felt horrible for worrying about her own potential relationship when Harry was in the Hospital Wing, having narrowly escaped You-Know-Who. Cedric was dead—the sound of his parents’ cries may never leave her head. How could she focus on anything but the tragedy of the night?

But even as she thought this, another memory from the night crept in—the memory of standing in the hospital wing and seeing a bug with curious markings around its eyes. The pieces had only connected in her mind that morning before the final task, and she had almost entirely forgotten about it after the events that had occurred. But as the beetle had crept along the windowsill, Hermione was reminded of the way Harry had described Draco talking, of the beetle in her hair after the second task—it had been the perfect way to hide undetected. Hermione had slammed her hand down and caught the beetle before she had even thought about what she was doing. Now it was concealed in a jar she had taken from the Hospital Wing.

She wasn’t entirely sure what her next step would be, which was why she was still holding Skeeter in the jar. What she had seen and heard in the Hospital Wing could never get out—not only had she heard Harry’s brief recollection of the night, but she had seen Sirius transform and Dumbledore argue with Fudge. Hermione couldn’t allow her to report it, but she didn’t quite know how to convince Skeeter. She had the leverage of knowing Skeeter was an unregistered Animagus, but would that be enough to buy her silence?

Hermione tossed around restlessly, unable to stop her mind from jumping from thought to thought. She had no solutions, but could not stop considering each of the new risks her life now held. At some point, sleep must have come, because Hermione was suddenly woken to the sound of her dormmates getting ready. She dressed quickly and met Ron in the common room—they both wanted to get an early breakfast so they could go see Harry. Breakfast, however, was no break from the thoughts that plagued her mind—Dumbledore halted the breakfast midway through, to make an announcement to the students. He did not address the previous night’s events outright, but requested the students respect Harry and do not pester him with questions about his experience. He spoke briefly of Cedric and offered counselling to students struggling with this loss—much of his speech was broken by muffled sobs.

Hermione and Ron left soon after Dumbledore spoke and walked to the Hospital Wing, however when they arrived, they found Madam Pomfrey preventing them from entering—apparently Harry was speaking with the Diggorys. Not wanting to invade, they moved away from the Hospital Wing, with assurances they could see him later. They stopped a corridor away from the Hospital Wing, trying to decide what to do.

“We could go find Mum and Bill?” Ron suggested, “They stayed last night, in case Harry needed them.”

Hermione began to nod, but was distracted as she realised the classroom they had stopped in front of—the memories of her meeting with Draco overwhelmed her and she recalled his promise to wait in the dungeon classroom for her.

“I think I might go for a walk—clear my head a bit,” Hermione said, feeling guilty for lying to him.

Ron looked at her with concern. “Do you want me to come with?” he asked.

“No, I’m okay—I just need some time. So much happened last night, I’m still processing everything,” she said, knowing that at least that much was the truth.

“I understand—I know there’s more for you to be worried about, with You-Know-Who’s return,” Ron said, “but we’re all going to look after you—and your family. Dumbledore is already organising something. We’re going to fight this.”

“I know—thank you. I just need some time to think. I’ll come find you soon and we can visit Harry,” she said.

“Okay—I’m going to find Bill and Mum,” Ron said, turning back towards the Great Hall.

“I’ll see you soon,” Hermione said.

She waited a moment until Ron had turned around the corner and then walked in the direction of the dungeons. She hoped Draco had meant it when he said he’d be waiting for her—there was so much she still didn’t know or understand about what had happened, but perhaps her standing with Draco could be one less thing to worry about after today.

She reached the classroom and hesitated, her hand resting on the door handle—as much as she wanted to see Draco, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering if he had really meant all the things he’d said the night before. She shook the thought from her head—there was no use standing here when she could find out by just opening the door. Making up her mind, she pushed the door open. Draco was waiting there, sitting at a desk and drawing on a piece of parchment. He looked up when she walked in and his face broke into a grin.

“I didn’t know if you’d change your mind,” he said, standing up.

Hermione shook her head and smiled at him. They both stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to do.

“How are you?” Draco asked after a moment.

“I’m okay,” Hermione said, “I still don’t know what to make of everything, but I think I’m okay.”

“Good,” he said. “Have you spoken to Harry?”

“Not much—Pomfrey gave him a potion to sleep,” Hermione said. “We were hoping to go this morning but he’s with the Diggorys.”

“Merlin—that can’t be easy,” Draco said.

“I don’t know how he’s doing it—I don’t think I could,” Hermione said. “It’s just so horrible, I can’t believe he’s just gone.” Hermione felt her breath catch as she spoke and Draco reached for her hand, intertwining it with his own.

“Was it the D—You-Know-Who?” Draco said tentatively.

“Yes,” Hermione managed to say.

Draco stared, his expression unreadable. Hermione suddenly felt horribly nervous.

“Does that change anything?” she asked, unable to stop herself.

Draco looked at her, concerned.

“It’ll change almost everything—but it can’t change how I feel about you.”

He pulled her close and before she knew it, they were kissing again. It had been less than twelve hours, and yet she had missed the feeling of his lips on hers. She pulled him close, not wanting to let go in case this was the last. Draco was the first to pull away and he fixed her with a look filled with such intensity that she had to look away.

“I don’t know exactly what we’re doing—but I don’t want this to end,” Draco said.

“Neither do I,” Hermione said, looking back up at him.

“I’ve been trying to hide this all year,” he admitted.

Hermione looked at him, confused. “We were friends last year, too,” she said.

“I don’t mean hide our friendship—I mean hide from you how I feel.”

Hermione stared at him, realisation dawning. “A year?”

“Yes—I’m not giving up on this yet,” he said, reaching for her hands again.

“It’s almost holidays,” Hermione said.

“Six weeks,” Draco said, “and I don’t think I’ll be able to risk owling you—I have no idea what will be awaiting me at home.”

“We’ll spend as much time together as we can before we have to leave—and then we’ll see each other again when school goes back,” Hermione said, trying to convince herself that it would be enough.

“It’s probably best we keep this a secret—if we couldn’t risk a friendship then we certainly can’t risk this,” Draco said.

“I agree—although I think Ginny may have figured something out,” Hermione said reluctantly.

Draco laughed.

“That’s okay—Blaise definitely figured it out.”

“I guess we’re not as good at keeping secrets as we thought,” Hermione said with a small laugh.

“I guess not,” Draco agreed, looking nervous, “but let’s not try to spread it any further than that.”

“Okay,” Hermione agreed.

She realised it was probably getting close to time for her to find Ron and visit Harry—for the hundredth time that year, she cursed herself for never fixing her watch.

“What’s the time?” she asked Draco.

“Almost ten,” he said, checking his watch. “Do you have to go?”

Hermione nodded.

“I’ll try to send a message to you when I can next meet,” she said, hoping an opportunity would come up.

“I’ll make time whenever you can,” Draco said.

Hermione paused, unsure if she should kiss him again before leaving. Draco noticed her hesitation and smiled before leaning in. She pulled away after only a moment, not wanting to make herself late.

“I’ll see you soon,” she said as the door shut behind her.

\---

Hermione spent most of the final week of term in the Gryffindor common room, playing chess with Ron while Harry watched silently. Ron had initially brought out his chess set in an effort to get Harry to play, but he hadn’t had much desire to join in. He seemed most relaxed when Hermione and Ron carried the conversation or played chess—it seemed to be enough to distract him, without draining him. Sometimes he would excuse himself, saying he needed to sleep or wanted to go on a walk. Ron always offered to join his walks, but it seemed Harry wanted these moments to be alone.

It was only when Harry left that Hermione would try to find Draco. They had only fleeting moments together, whenever they could find privacy. Their conversations had carefully avoided the growing concerns outside Hogwarts—it was no use to speculate what was happening and how it would affect them. Hermione tried her best to enjoy every moment they shared, not knowing if it could continue when they returned—Draco had promised his feelings wouldn’t change, but six weeks with his family could make him question if it was worth it.

When she was able to forget these worries, her time with Draco was indescribably perfect—he understood her in a way she had never experienced before and their friendship seemed to flow naturally into whatever it was they had struck up. When she was overwhelmed by worries about Harry and You-Know-Who, she reminded herself of these moments—of the comfort she still had.

The day before they were due to return home, Harry made even more excuses than usual to seek solitude—Hermione was sure he was thinking about his undoubtedly unpleasant return to the Dursleys. He had been gone for almost an hour when Ron decided to go looking for him—both of them were uneasy with him being alone for so long, not knowing what might happen.

It was a perfect moment for Hermione to find Draco, and she had just decided to leave the common room when Ginny entered. She saw Hermione picking up her things and made a beeline for her.

“Where are Harry and Ron?” she asked, as she walked across the common room.

“Not sure,” Hermione said as Ginny reached her. “Harry went for a walk about an hour ago and Ron just went to look for him.”

Ginny looked pained for a moment. “Is he okay?”

Hermione didn’t need to ask who she was referring to. “I think he’s coping as you’d expect. He’s worse today, I think because he’ll have to be back with the Dursleys soon.”

“I wish there was something we could do to help,” Ginny said.

An idea struck Hermione as Ginny spoke and she grinned.

“Why don’t you take him flying? He hasn’t had Quidditch all year and he’d probably welcome a chance to play.”

Ginny blushed. “I can’t—he doesn’t even know I can fly,” she said, shaking her head.

“So show him,” Hermione said simply.

“Why don’t you tell Ron to take him?” Ginny asked.

“Because Ron doesn’t have a crush on him—at least I don’t think he does,” Hermione said, laughing.

Ginny tried to glare at Hermione but couldn’t help a giggle escaping. “I don’t have a crush on him—I’ve actually sort of been seeing someone,” she admitted.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “And you forgot to mention this to me?” she questioned.

“Well, I didn’t really know if there was anything there until recently,” Ginny said, blushing again.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know! Who is it?” Hermione said, pulling Ginny to sit down with her.

“Michael Corner—we met at the Yule Ball—”

“The Yule Ball? That long ago?” Hermione interrupted.

“We were only friends then!” Ginny protested.

“But you’re not now?” Hermione persisted.

“Not unless you kiss your friends,” Ginny said, her face as red as her hair.

Hermione laughed, the memory of Draco kissing her vivid in her memory.

“Not usually,” Hermione said. “So when did this happen?”

“Last week—we were studying and then he just leaned over and kissed me,” Ginny said.

“Wow—I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” Hermione joked.

“I would have—but then everything happened after the third task and it just didn’t seem to be the right time.”

“Tell me about it,” Hermione muttered.

Ginny stared at her and Hermione slapped a hand over her mouth.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” Ginny said, fixing her with a piercing look.

“I—um—” Hermione tried to think of an explanation.

“Did something happen with that Slytherin boy?” Ginny asked.

“Shh!” Hermione said, glancing around—the common room was surprisingly empty, however. It seemed most students were out enjoying the sunny weather.

“Something did happen! I can’t believe you were telling me off for not telling you about Michael and you've been keeping your own secret!” Ginny said, laughing.

“Well, like you said, it didn’t seem like good timing.” Hermione paused for a moment. “How do you know he’s in Slytherin?”

“I had my suspicions—it seemed the only reason you’d be so nervous to share who it was,” Ginny said, looking proud of herself.

“Well, at least you don’t know which Slytherin,” Hermione said.

“I bet it’s Malfoy,” Ginny said.

Hermione stared and Ginny’s eyes widened.

“No way—I mean it makes sense but Merlin I cannot believe you’re actually dating Malfoy.”

“You really think it makes sense? And we’re not exactly dating,” Hermione said slowly, realising she and Draco hadn’t really defined what this was. “I don’t know what we are.”

“Well I doubt it would be any of the other Slytherins—I certainly can’t see you with Crabbe or Goyle,” Ginny said. “Although I have no idea how the two of you became friends.”

“He apologised at the beginning of last year—I don’t know, he’s really changed. He’s different from how he seems around the other Slytherins,” Hermione said, trying to reassure Ginny without betraying Draco’s confidence.

Ginny looked slightly nervous.

“I trust you, Hermione—I know you have good judgement and what you’ve said makes me want to believe in him—but do be careful, please?” she said cautiously.

“I know—I will,” Hermione promised.

She smiled as Ginny laughed about both of them meeting someone at the same time, but her mind wandered back to her stolen moments with Draco. She’d promised Ginny she’d be careful, but his kisses seemed too sweet to hold any malice. Their relationship may be dangerous—but she couldn’t help but want to risk it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it! Get ready for a very interesting fifth year...


	25. Clandestine Changes

“Oi, time to get up ‘Mione.”

“Don’t call me that,” Hermione groaned into her pillow.

Ginny reached over and tugged the pillow from underneath Hermione and she felt her head thud onto the mattress.

“What was that for?” Hermione asked, turning to glare at her.

“We have to get ready—Mum’s already saying we’re going to be late.”

“Fine,” Hermione said, pulling herself out of bed—she was grateful she had packed the night before and had little to do now.

“Breakfast is downstairs,” Ginny called as she walked out of the room.

Hermione nodded and slowly followed after her. Her hopes for a restful morning were quickly dashed—they had not even reached the kitchen when the chaos began, with Fred and George knocking Ginny down the stairs as they attempted to fly their trunks to the hall. Hermione hurried Ginny to Mrs. Weasley, whose yells were quickly accompanied by Sirius’ mother. Thankfully, Hedwig arrived in the middle of the commotion with a letter from her parents and Hermione was able to make an excuse to take the owl to Harry. She hardly had time to read the letter congratulating her on becoming a prefect before Mrs. Weasley called for them all to come back downstairs.

The Order had decided Harry required a guard to take him to Platform 9 ¾—something Hermione was quite grateful for, given the dangers he had faced alone over the summer. She could hardly believe they were all going back—part of her had been terrified that Harry would be expelled after the dementor attack and left on his own. However, the presence of the guard accompanying them to the station seemed to only be increasing Mrs. Weasley’s stress.

Living in the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix had made for an interesting summer—they had felt at first as though they were in the middle of something important, though they quickly learned that few secrets were shared with them. Of course, Fred and George found ways around this, but they had failed to learn much—the most they found out was when Harry arrived and demanded answers. Largely, the summer had consisted of cleaning and eavesdropping—not exactly what Hermione had anticipated when she was told she was being brought to the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters.

The most difficult thing about being at Grimmauld Place was her attempts to hide her new relationship with Draco—they’d had no chance to write to each other, as Draco had predicted. She knew he wouldn’t be able to write or receive letters—there was too much danger of them being read by his family or someone at the Order—yet the silence made her worry. They had agreed at the end of last term that they wanted to keep seeing each other, but six weeks apart allowed room for a lot of worries—worries that she had to mostly keep to herself. She had spoken to Ginny about it a few times, but with the business of Grimmauld Place, conversations were rarely private. Hermione tried her best not to think about it—the few times she felt herself get lost in thought, she was pulled back by someone asking her what she was thinking about, or if she was okay. After this, she decided to not think about Draco—she couldn’t risk someone finding out.

As they began to leave Grimmauld Place, however, Hermione could not help but let her mind return to Draco. She hoped that his feelings had not changed over the summer—he had assured her they wouldn’t, but what if he decided it was too difficult? Six weeks with his family would be enough to remind him of the difficulties their relationship would bring. Hermione had also considered these difficulties—yet her mind always wandered to the memory of Draco kissing her, soft and sweet. She had found comfort in him and there was something there that she could not bring herself to ignore—whatever the difficulties were, she knew she was too far in to back out.

Their group reached the station without incident and Hermione felt relieved as they stepped onto the train. This was almost immediately replaced with guilt as she and Ron realised they would have to leave Harry to go to the Prefect’s meeting. The distant look on Harry’s face as they left him only made her worry more. She was grateful Ginny seemed to be finding a compartment with him and reminded herself they would be able to join them after the meeting.

The Hufflepuff prefects were already waiting in the compartment when Ron and Hermione walked in. They took their seats next to them and waited for the other Prefects. Slowly they arrived, with the Slytherins being the last to enter. Hermione watched the door carefully, not sure if she was hoping Draco was a prefect or not. Her breath caught when he opened the door. She felt Ron glance at her, then scowl as he followed her gaze to Draco. She quickly dropped her eyes, not wanting to give anything away. When she felt safe, she looked back up and met Draco’s grey eyes—it was as though he had been waiting for her to look at him. She blushed and looked away, recalling their past conversations in this very compartment—the most recent of which involved very little actual talking.

She was thankfully distracted by the Head Boy and Girl beginning their address to the Prefects—Hermione tried her best to listen diligently, but her mind kept drifting to Draco, who seemed intent on trying to catch her eye. She knew he was hoping for a chance to talk after the meeting, but she didn’t know if she would be able to slip away from Ron. The Head Boy and Girl dismissed them and Hermione began to walk away with Ron, thinking perhaps she could try to return later to talk to Draco. Just outside the door, however, Ron stopped.

“Wait a second—I have to go to the bathroom,” he said, nodding to the doors ahead.

“Okay,” Hermione said, stopping to wait outside the Prefect’s compartment.

Ron crossed over to the bathrooms and Hermione waited for the prefects to leave before entering the compartment—she had noticed one prefect had not yet left.

“Hi,” Draco said as she shut the door behind her.

“Hi,” Hermione replied, suddenly nervous.

Before she could say anything else, Draco had closed the space between them and pulled her close, his lips colliding with hers as she reached for him, any thought of what she had been going to say pushed from her mind. Too soon, Hermione pulled away from him.

“Ron’ll be back any minute,” she said quickly.

“Why didn’t he go back to his compartment?” Draco asked, frustrated.

“He just went to the bathroom—I said I’d wait and figured this was my only chance to see you.”

“Right,” Draco said, sounding disappointed.

“I’m sorry—I’ve missed you, I want to stay and speak to you.”

“I know—I’ve missed you, too. I’ve been waiting for this moment all summer,” Draco said, raking his hand through his hair. Hermione tried not to smile as it fell messily on his face.

“When can we meet?” she asked.

“I doubt tonight—we’ll have to show the First Years around.”

“Tomorrow?” Hermione asked.

Draco nodded.

“The dungeon classroom?” he asked.

A noise outside the compartment stopped Hermione from responding. She whipped her head around as the door opened and Ron peered in. His brow furrowed as he looked between Draco and Hermione.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” he demanded.

Hermione turned back to Draco to see he had his wand held carefully at his side. She felt nervous, not wanting there to be a fight.

“He’s just being a prat—let’s go, Ron,” Hermione said, grabbing his arm to pull him out of the compartment.

“Yes—off you run, Weasley,” Draco called out, his voice shockingly different from what it had been a moment before.

Hermione shook her head and continued to pull Ron forward before he could retaliate.

“What was that about?” Ron asked as they walked down the carriage.

“Nothing—just Malfoy being his usual self,” Hermione said dismissively. “We can’t get into fights with him though—not now that we’re prefects.”

“Didn’t you see he had his wand out?” Ron asked, furiously. “He was the one trying to start a fight.”

As Ron spoke, Hermione realised Draco’s plan—he’d pulled out his wand so Ron would think it was a confrontation and not question them. It seemed to have worked, but Hermione only hoped it wouldn’t cause Ron to pick an argument later.

“He was just trying to get you to do something so you’d get in trouble—don’t fall for his bait.”

“I’m not falling for anything!” Ron said defensively.

“I know! But you can get in a lot more trouble for getting in a fight now,”

“So I’m not supposed to defend myself—or you? You’re the one he had his wand drawn against.”

“No—I’m just saying don’t take the first shot. Let him get himself into trouble. We need to be careful this year, Ron—and not just because we’re prefects.”

Ron nodded, seeming to finally agree and pointed toward a compartment ahead where they could see Harry sitting with Neville, Ginny, and a blonde girl she didn’t know. They stepped inside and Hermione sat down as Ron reached for a Chocolate Frog. She breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t tell Harry about their confrontation with Draco—for now they had gotten away with it, but they would have to be far more careful next time. Even as they began to discuss the new prefects from the other houses, Hermione couldn’t help thinking about the next time she would see Draco. She had felt nervous all morning at the thought of it, but now she had spoken to him, she couldn’t help feeling excited at the thought of their next meeting.

\---

After their brief conversation on the train, Hermione found it more difficult than ever to not reach out to Draco. They had agreed to meet after class, but Hermione found herself struggling to wait even that long. Her thoughts of Draco were rudely pushed from her mind, however, as soon as she entered class. Each professor had their own speech about O.W.L.s prepared and they wasted no time in starting on the course work. Hermione was quickly busied with a new list of enchantments and readings and by the end of the day was beginning to feel rather overwhelmed. She was so caught up in beginning the study her professors had outlined that she almost forgot her meeting with Draco. She was halfway to the common room before she realised and turned around.

Draco was already waiting in the dungeon classroom when Hermione arrived, leaning over a piece of parchment on the desk. He looked up when Hermione opened the door and grinned at her, pushing the parchment back into his bag.

“Hi,” she said, shutting the door carefully behind her.

“Hi,” Draco said.

Hermione stood for a moment, unsure what exactly she should do—they’d hardly had time to spend together after their kiss before the holidays and after six weeks apart, she wasn’t really sure how to act. Yesterday on the train it had been easy to run to him and kiss him again, but now it felt strange, standing in the dungeon classroom together again. Draco seemed to also be aware of this and shuffled his feet awkwardly.

“So, um, how were your holidays?” Draco asked after a moment.

“They were okay,” Hermione said, trying to think of something she could say about it without giving away that she’d been with the Order of the Phoenix. “I spent most of it with Harry and the Weasleys.”

“That’s nice,” Draco said. “What about your parents though?”

“They weren’t all that happy that I didn’t spend much time with them—but I wanted to be there for Harry after everything that happened. I’m going skiing with them later over Christmas so that should make up for it.”

“Skiing?” Draco asked curiously.

“Is that only a Muggle thing? It’s like a sport in the snow—you attach these wooden skis to your feet and go down mountains,” Hermione said, trying to think of the easiest description.

Draco stared at her, puzzled. “Muggles are insane.”

“It makes more sense when you see it,” Hermione tried to explain.

“If you say so.”

“How was your summer?” Hermione asked. Draco’s face fell and Hermione wished almost instantly she could take her words back. “I’m sorry—you don’t have to answer…”

“There’s not much to tell—it was horrible when Father was gone and worse when he was home. Mother tried to protect me from most of what was going on but I heard enough,” Draco said, looking away from Hermione.

“Was he there?” Hermione asked in a hushed voice.

Draco shook his head. “I wouldn’t know—I’m not allowed in half the rooms anymore. Mother says it’s to keep me safe. I think she’s trying to prolong the time until they invite me into one of the rooms.”

“Will that happen?”

“Probably—given my father’s position, I’ll be expected to follow in his footsteps.”

“Will you?” Hermione asked, afraid to hear the answer but unable to stop the question from slipping out.

“I don’t want to—you know that,” Draco said carefully.

Hermione nodded. “I know—look, let’s talk about something else. We’re safe from it, at least for now.”

“Only partially—have you seen Umbridge? It’s almost as bad as having my father here.”

“We had her class today—she gave Harry a week’s worth of detentions.”

“You’re kidding—what for?”

“For saying You-Know-Who is back.”

“Bet she loved that.”

“She called him a liar—most of the school is too. I had a massive argument with the girls in my dorm about it last night.”

“They don’t believe him? I thought Gryffindors would always support Potter.”

“I don’t know—I don’t think they want to believe it. Lavender was asking questions about it, like it was the latest gossip,” Hermione said bitterly, recalling the conversation.

“No one will want to believe it,” Draco said.

“Have you had one of Umbridge’s classes yet?” Hermione asked, trying to change the subject, knowing discussing the argument would only make her angry again.

“Not yet—but I know her through my father.”

“Through your father?” Hermione asked nervously.

“Not like that—she’s just one of his political connections.”

“Oh—okay,” Hermione said, feeling uncomfortable as they skirted around the topic of his father’s _other_ connections.

They stood for a moment in awkward silence. Hermione tried to think of something to say, but it felt as though every conversation they had ended at the same destination.

“Can this work?” Hermione asked quietly.

Draco looked at her sharply. “This—us?”

Hermione nodded.

“We can make it work—I know who you are and you know I’m not my father,” Draco said quickly.

“We can’t even talk about our summers—we can’t tell our friends, we can’t see each other in public, we can’t speak to each other except in this classroom.” Hermione felt her voice catch as she spoke, the realisation of every difficulty they would face hitting her too suddenly.

“So we forget about those things—let’s not talk about everything going on outside here. We managed last year.”

“But last year we were just friends,” Hermione protested.

“Is that what you want?” Draco asked, not meeting Hermione’s eyes.

“No—but it was easier. This makes it so complicated.”

“Is it too complicated?” Draco asked, still looking away.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said softly.

“Okay—do you need time?”

“No—I’ve had all summer to think about it. I know how difficult it will be.”

“So what do you want?” Draco asked, finally looking up to meet her eyes.

Hermione looked at Draco, his grey eyes staring into hers so intensely, steeling themselves for whatever answer she gave.

“I want this,” Hermione said breathlessly.

Draco grinned and reached to grab her hands, pulling her towards him like he had the first time they kissed. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and reached to tangle her fingers in his hair. She knew it was dangerous, letting herself fall for Draco—but as his lips met hers, she couldn’t help but think that it was worth every risk.

\---

“Do you have to go now?” Draco asked as Hermione packed up her things—to her surprise, they had actually managed to get some study done. Certainly not as much as she could have done on her own, but she didn’t mind the distractions.

“Yes,” Hermione said, leaning over to look at Draco’s watch. “I should have left ten minutes ago.”

“I’ll lose my watch too if it means you’ll stay longer.”

“I haven’t lost it,” Hermione said absent-mindedly.

“Why don’t you ever wear it then?”

“I got out of the habit.”

“How?”

“Well, I couldn’t wear it in third year, so I just put it at the bottom of my trunk, and I keep forgetting to get it back out. I really should, my parents bought it for me.”

“What do you mean you couldn’t wear it in third year?”

Hermione froze, realising what she had let slip—she’d never told Draco about the time-turner. She supposed she’d said too much to turn back now.

“Do you remember I took a lot of classes in third year?”

“Yeah? Wouldn’t a watch be helpful with all that work?”

“Not really. I technically did more classes than should have been possible.”  
  
“I’m still not getting what this has to do with your watch.”

“A lot of my classes were scheduled at the same time—to make it work, McGonagall gave me a time-turner.”

Draco’s mouth fell open. “A time-turner?”

“Yeah,” Hermione said, holding back a grin—she couldn’t help enjoying Draco’s surprise.

“Are you telling me that you were travelling around with a _time-turner_ in third year?”

“Yep.”  
  
“How did I not notice?”

“I was careful.”

“Is that how you were able to meet with me? You didn’t have to lie to Potter and Weasley because you could actually be with them and me at the same time?”

“Sometimes,” Hermione said guiltily.

“So I was having to come up with all these excuses to meet with you and you just jumped back in time? You didn’t really have to hide it at all!”

“Yeah, I only had to hide that I was travelling through time,” Hermione said sarcastically.

“Okay, okay,” Draco conceded. “So that meant you had to take off your watch?”

“It didn’t reset when I travelled so I had to take it off—it would have given me away.”

Draco shook his head in disbelief. “Okay, but—”

“I really have to go now, Draco—I’ll answer all your questions later.”

“Will I see you later?”

“Harry has detention all week, so it should be easier to get away unnoticed. How about tomorrow afternoon? I can probably make some excuse up for Ron.”

Draco nodded and reached to pack up his own things.

“I wish there was some way we could talk to each other outside of here—so we didn’t have to plan meetings like this.”

“I know,” Hermione agreed. “It’s a shame Muggle technology doesn’t work at Hogwarts—this is when a phone would be perfect.”

“Phone?” Draco asked, bewildered.

“I’ll tell you about them another time—much faster than owls.”

Hermione finished packing her things and reached over to kiss Draco before she left. She closed the door behind her, thinking carefully about finding another way to communicate. It would be helpful to be able talk to each other when they weren’t in the dungeon classroom—all their meetings felt so uncertain, relying on both of them being able to slip away from their friends. If there was some way to tell each other when they were free, or if they had gotten caught up, it would make things so much easier.

Hermione heard the clocktower chime and realised it was almost time to meet Harry and Ron for dinner. Her mind was far too preoccupied with thoughts of finding a way to communicate with Draco, however, and before she had really thought about it, she found herself changing route to go to the library.

Hermione wandered through the aisle quickly, selecting books that might be able to help her find a solution. She knew she didn’t have time to read them now—she would have to take them back to read after dinner. After Ron almost catching her and Draco on the train, Hermione didn’t want to do anything else that may raise her friend’s suspicions. Quickly, she moved to check out the books and hurried toward the Great Hall for dinner, pushing the books into her already full bag. She was so preoccupied with trying to cram her books in that she didn’t notice Ginny until she almost ran into her.

“Woah,” Ginny said, holding out her arm to stop Hermione from tripping over.

“Sorry! I didn’t see you there,” Hermione said quickly.

“Clearly your mind was somewhere else,” Ginny said, grinning in a way that Hermione didn’t like.

“I was just trying to get these books to fit into my bag,” Hermione said dismissively.

“Right—so you were in the library all afternoon?” Ginny asked, her voice innocent despite the implications.

“Um—yes?” Hermione said, sounding far more uncertain than she had intended.

“You’re a horrible liar,” Ginny said, shaking her head. “So how’s Malfoy?”

Hermione whipped her head around to check the corridor was empty.

“He’s fine,” she said, blushing.

“I’m _sure_ he is,” Ginny said, grinning.

“Shut up,” Hermione said, wincing.

“That’s not very nice behaviour from our newest Gryffindor prefect.”

Hermione swiped at her with the book she was still trying to squeeze into her bag. Ginny dodged and grabbed the book from her.

“What are you reading this for?”

“Nothing,” Hermione said defensively.

Ginny raised her eyebrows at her.

“Fine—I’m trying to figure out a way for Draco and I to talk without having to risk getting caught.”

“I can’t believe you call him Draco.”

“What else am I supposed to call him?”

“I don’t know, but Draco doesn’t sound right.”

They rounded the corner to the Great Hall and Hermione was saved from responding as they entered a crowd of students. They entered the Great Hall and Ginny waved goodbye as she moved to speak to Michael Corner. Hermione turned toward the Gryffindor table and found Harry and Ron waiting. Harry seemed to be silently fuming, wincing at the carrying whispers. It seemed the news of his argument with Umbridge had travelled around the whole school. Hermione and Ron exchanged nervous looks, hoping Harry wasn’t about to yell at someone again and get himself into more trouble. He did not seem to be taking the bait however and instead took his anger out on his dinner.

They ate quickly and returned to Gryffindor Tower, where Harry’s mood did not improve. Hermione briefly attempted to express her anger at Umbridge’s imposition on the school, but it seemed to only make Harry angrier. The common room was noisy and, after an argument with Fred and George about testing their new products, Hermione decided to give up on continuing her homework—there were far too many distractions plaguing her mind for her to concentrate.

Packing her things away, Hermione went up to the girl’s dormitory to go to bed. She found herself far too distracted to sleep, however, and after a few minutes she reached into her bag to pull out the books she had borrowed from the library. She leafed through the pages and took a piece of parchment and quill from her bag, noting down possible ideas. The spellwork seemed incredibly complicated, but Hermione was relieved to have a challenge she could work at. She paused at one of the books, rereading a section labelled _Protean Charm_. Hermione’s brow furrowed as she read—it was one of the most difficult spells she had seen, but she couldn’t help but thinking it was the perfect solution.

The charm reminded her horribly of the Death Eater scars Harry had described and the thought of it almost made Hermione abandon the idea. She didn’t want to base any of her communication with Draco on You-Know-Who’s practices—but the magic required was not dark, You-Know-Who had only co-opted it for an evil purpose. She reminded herself that if this spell was in a library book—one not even in the restricted section—it couldn’t be dangerous.

Still considering this, Hermione reached for a second piece of parchment and laid it beside the one she had been taking notes on. She carefully raised her wand and began muttering the incantation required. The letters on the page flickered, as though they were fading and reappearing, but no change occurred to the second parchment. Hermione grinned, enjoying the challenge of a difficult spell and reread the section before raising her wand again. The letters faded again, but this time she saw them faintly appear on the second parchment. The parchment returned to normal after a moment, however, and Hermione tried again.

She did not know how long she sat on her bed, carefully concentrating as she tried to get the spell to work. On her third attempt, the letters remained but burnt a hole in the parchment. She tried again with new parchment, this time adding a freezing charm to stop the parchment from burning. Gradually, Hermione practiced and added charms until she had two parchments that could communicate to each other. The protean charm was cast on both, so that changes made to one would appear on the other. Her final touch was to add a concealment charm, so that only herself and Draco could view the writing.

Satisfied with her work, Hermione carefully placed the parchments into her bookbag and lay down on the bed. Her dorm-mates had gone to bed some time ago and she surprised herself by drifting easily into sleep, thinking happily of Draco’s reaction to her parchments.

\---

Hermione could hardly wait to see Draco and show him the parchments the next day. She expected to have to wait until the afternoon when they had agreed to meet and felt frustrated, wanting to show him immediately. She had accepted that she would just have to wait, when Ron and Harry left to work on the homework they hadn’t finished in the library and she found herself quite alone for the lunch hour. Thinking carefully, Hermione walked to the Great Hall to get a sandwich, before walking slowly past the Slytherin table where Draco was sitting. Outside the hall, she began walking toward the dungeon classroom and after a moment, heard footsteps just behind her.

At the classroom, she left the door open behind her. Draco soon walked in, shutting the door behind him. He grinned at her and Hermione dropped her bookbag on a desk and reached into it to take out the parchments. She held them out to Draco, who looked at them, bemused.

“I figured out how we can talk to each other,” Hermione said triumphantly.

“With notes? I thought it was too risky to owl each other,” Draco said, still confused.

“We don’t have to owl,” Hermione said, passing one of the parchments to Draco. “Write a message on it.”

Draco shrugged and reached into his bag for a quill. He bent over the parchment and wrote something on it. A moment later, the same message appeared on the paper in Hermione’s hand. She held it out to him, grinning. Draco looked from the parchment to Hermione, shocked.

“You’re brilliant,” he said.

“It was nothing—I had fun figuring it out,” Hermione said, blushing.

“How did you do it?” Draco asked.

“A protean charm—and a few others,” Hermione replied.

“You’re kidding—aren’t they meant to be really hard?” Draco asked, impressed.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, not wanting to sound like she was boasting.

“Yes you do—that has to be N.E.W.T level.”

“I guess?”

“You’re amazing.”

Hermione blushed again.

“So we can use this whenever we want to talk?”

“Yeah—and it’ll only be able to be read by us.”

Draco shook his head, grinning. “Amazing.”

“I wanted to show you it now—I know I could have just waited until this afternoon, but I was too excited.”

“I’m glad you showed me now,” Draco said, “So you can still meet this afternoon?”

“Yes—but I do actually have to do homework. I spent most of last night working on this instead.”

“Fine—but I want to take you on an actual date, not one where we have to do homework.”

“An actual date?” Hermione asked, trying to hide a smile.

“As much of an actual date as we can manage while hiding from everyone.”

“I’d like that,” Hermione said.

“I’ll write to you to about it then?” Draco asked, picking up the parchment.

Hermione nodded and smiled. She could hardly believe what she had just agreed to—a date with Draco Malfoy.

\---

The first two weeks of their O.W.L. year passed surprisingly quickly—between classes, prefect duties and meeting with Draco, Hermione hardly had a second to spare. It felt strangely like third year again, with an endless list of work and a secret she was afraid of anyone finding out. Of course, Hermione felt much happier now—despite the constant worry of everything happening outside of Hogwarts and Umbridge’s continued imposition on the school, she had good friends and a boy who liked spending time with her.

She and Draco had yet to discuss exactly what they were to each other—they wrote to each other whenever they could on the parchments and met together at every available opportunity, but Draco had never asked Hermione to be his girlfriend. He’d asked her on a date, but despite his hinting at something to come, it had not yet happened. Hermione was afraid to ask—they were so happy together the way things were, she wasn’t sure if she was willing to upset that. They seemed to have both chosen to ignore the difficulties of their relationship when they were together—there was no use discussing the reasons they couldn’t make their relationship public, or the worries they both felt about what was happening outside Hogwarts. It was better to enjoy being together—the rest they could navigate later.

The problems outside Hogwarts were becoming increasingly more pressing, however, as Umbridge’s regulations and control of the school increased. Harry had spent every night for the past two weeks in detention and it hadn’t taken Ron and Hermione long to notice the horrible scars etched into the back of his hand. Hermione hated the sight of it and had spent her spare time since trying to find a way to help the pain.

Her fury at Umbridge only increased as she refused to give them any practical lessons. It wasn’t just unfair to not teach them half the content required for the exams—it meant that none of them knew how to defend themselves. You-Know-Who had returned and the Ministry’s ignorance meant that they were going to be helpless when he revealed himself to them. The thought angered Hermione and she felt determined to find a way to teach themselves—to learn what the Ministry was refusing to teach them. It wasn’t until midway through the second week of term that an idea suddenly came to her.

Hermione and Ron were sitting in the common room together, waiting for Harry to return from detention. After careful research, Hermione had found a solution that she hoped would ease Harry’s pain. Hermione hated to think about what Umbridge was forcing Harry to do—it made her feel sick to her stomach. She couldn’t believe it was someone the Ministry of Magic had placed in charge of their classes. Hermione sighed loudly and Ron turned to look at her sympathetically.

“You thinking about Harry?” he asked knowingly.

Hermione nodded.

“Me too,” Ron replied, dropping his quill on the essay he had been attempting to write.

“I just hate that she’s able to do this—and that she’s teaching our classes,” Hermione said, frustrated.

“I dunno how Dumbledore is allowing it,” Ron said, shaking his head.

“I don’t think he has much of a say in it—they changed the law so she could teach here.” Hermione felt exhausted even trying to understand what went on in Dumbledore’s head.

“Why do you reckon they did that?” Ron asked.

“We know Dumbledore was struggling to find someone—they were probably worried that if he couldn’t find a professor, he might take on the job himself.”

“Blimey—that would have been cool.”

“Yes—but given the Ministry thinks he’s building an army against them, I don’t think they would have allowed it.”

“So they forced Umbridge on us.”

“Yep.”

“What’re we supposed to do? I know it’s O.W.L. year and we need to know the practical stuff for that, but it’s not just that—we need to know how to defend ourselves,” Ron said firmly.

“I know—I’ve been thinking the same thing. We can’t just let her get away with not teaching us any practical content.”

“We ought to get rid of her—you can brew up a poison, right?” Ron asked, grinning.

Hermione shook her head at him. “I’m serious—we have to do something.”

“But how? Dumbledore can’t step in and she has the support of the Ministry.”

Hermione paused for a moment, an idea that had been working in the back of her mind slowly coming together.

“We’ll have to do it ourselves,” she said carefully.

Ron stared at her. “What? Teach ourselves it all? I know you’re a genius Hermione, but I can’t just pick up a book and know what to do.”

“Not exactly—what if we had someone else to teach us?”

“That’d be brilliant—except we don’t have anyone to teach us.”

“Don’t we?” Hermione asked, hoping Ron would understand what she was hinting at.

Before Hermione could elaborate, the portrait hole opened and Harry stepped in, cradling his hand in a blood-soaked scarf. Hermione reached for the bowl of murtlap tentacles and held it out to Harry, explaining how it would help. She only half-listened as Ron insisted Harry go to McGonagall about Umbridge’s detentions, her mind still on the idea of Harry teaching Defence.

“She’s an awful woman—awful. You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in…we’ve got to do something about her.” Hermione said carefully, deciding it was best to approach the topic delicately.

“I suggested poison,” Ron said.

Hermione shook her head and corrected him.

“You know, I was thinking today…I was thinking that—maybe the time’s come when we should just—just do it ourselves.”

Harry looked at her, confused. “Do what ourselves?”

“Well—learn Defence Against the Dark Arts ourselves.”

Hermione expected Harry and Ron’s protests—Ron hadn’t seemed too on board with the idea of extra work when she first brought up the idea and Harry seemed equally unenthusiastic. She could hardly listen to their complaints—it was true they didn’t have much spare time, but this was far more important than schoolwork. She cut across their protests to say just that and received shocked looks from Harry and Ron in return.

“I didn’t think there was anything in the universe more important than homework,” Ron said.

“Don’t be silly, of course there is! It’s about preparing ourselves, like Harry said in Umbridge’s first lesson, for what’s waiting out there. It’s about making sure we really can defend ourselves. If we don’t learn anything for a whole year—”

“We can’t do much by ourselves. I mean, all right, we can go and look jinxes up in the library and try and practice them, I suppose,” Ron said unenthusiastically.

Hermione shook her head, frustrated that neither Harry nor Ron understood what she was hinting at. She agreed with Ron, that they couldn’t just learn out of books, but Harry took that to mean she was suggesting Lupin. Hermione dismissed this and Harry looked at her quizzically.

“Who, then?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hermione asked, giving up trying to get them to understand what she was implying. “I’m talking about _you_ , Harry.”

Harry’s immediate protests were what she had expected, but Hermione was surprised when Ron agreed with her. He began pointing out all the ways Harry had managed to defend himself against all sorts of Dark Magic and Hermione couldn’t help giggling with him at Harry’s attempts to protest—it was almost ridiculous that he couldn’t see how perfect he was for it.

Her giggles quickly stopped, however, when he stood to his feet, smashing the bowl of murtlap tentacles. Hermione had heard Harry raise his voice a few times, but never like this—his words were tumbling out furiously, as though he was trying to stop them but couldn’t quite. Hermione felt a wave of horror as Harry described exactly how he had felt facing You-Know-Who, at watching Cedric die. He had rarely spoken to them about it, but now Hermione felt she could understand some of what he had been through. She almost felt shocked at the fact that Harry still called You-Know-Who Voldemort—he more than anyone had reason to fear You-Know-Who, and yet he was brave enough to say it.

“Harry, don’t you see? This…this is exactly why we need you. We need to know what it’s r-really like—facing him—facing V-Voldemort.” Hermione forced the word out of her mouth, determined to speak it. Harry showed no fear of the name and Hermione knew that she shouldn’t either.

Something about what Hermione said seemed to resonate with Harry, because he sank back into his chair and muttered a spell to repair the bowl. Hermione wished she had more murtlap tentacles—Harry’s hand had not been in the solution nearly long enough.

“Well—think about it, please?” Hermione said, cautiously.

Harry nodded and Hermione excused herself to go to bed, hoping she sounded normal. Harry’s outburst had surprised her—not only because she so rarely saw him like that, but because he had spoken about topics he’d been avoiding for months. The thought of Harry witnessing his friend die, then facing his murderer and prepare for his own death made Hermione feel sick. She knew what had happened to Harry, but hearing him speak it made it sound real in a way she hadn’t considered.

Hermione reached her dorm room and prepared for bed quietly, trying not to wake any of her dorm-mates. She pulled a book from her bag to read before she went to sleep and as she did, noticed the parchment she made to message Draco. Carefully, she pulled it from her bag and unfolded it. Her breath caught as she saw the neatly written words across the page.

_Goodnight, Hermione._

The message was short, but Hermione couldn’t stop herself from grinning stupidly—something about Draco thinking to write to her before he went to sleep made her wonderfully happy. She pulled out her quill and wrote carefully beneath it.

_Goodnight, Draco._


	26. Tightrope

Draco looked down at the parchment, grinning. He hadn’t seen Hermione’s reply until morning and he couldn’t stop himself from sneaking looks at it while he was getting ready. He could hardly believe that he was dating Hermione Granger—not only that, but she cared about him enough to figure out all the complicated magic required to allow them to communicate. Draco had waited a year, desperately hoping that she would somehow return his feelings. He had almost given up on the dream of them ever being together—now as he smiled happily to himself, he felt relieved that he hadn’t ever been able to let her go.

Draco carefully concealed the parchment in his bookbag and slung it over his shoulder, trying not to grin too obviously. He looked up and saw Blaise watching him, eyebrows raised—apparently he had not succeeded in concealing his mood.

“You’re sickening,” Blaise said.

Draco shook his head and glanced around the room, making sure his dorm-mates had left.

“Shut up,” he shot back.

“Feisty this morning, are we?” Blaise asked.

“Don’t be a prick,” Draco said, bumping his shoulder as he moved past him to the door.

“But I have to be Draco—you’re so happy, it’s unsettling.”

“Come on, we’re going to miss breakfast.”

“We wouldn’t want to do that—you missed dinner last night.”

Draco flushed. “I was busy.”

“I’m sure you were.”

They stepped out of the Slytherin Common room and Draco shot Blaise an irritated look.

“Could you be a little less obvious when people are around?”

“I’m being too obvious? You’ve been practically floating—reading whatever you have on that secret parchment.”

Draco whipped his head around to look at him.

“How do you know about that?”

“Please, you’ve been pulling it out to look at all morning. I’d love to know what message Miss Granger wrote that has you so enamoured.”

“It’s nothing,” Draco said, blushing.

“You’re really not giving me much to work with here, I might have to go speak to that Weasley girl—you said she knows about this too.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to find out about your thrilling love life? You’re certainly not sharing anything with me.”

“Stop your sulking—there’s nothing to share.”

“I never thought Miss Granger would be so dull.”

“She’s not dull!”

“Ah—so there is something to share.”

"Shut up.”

“I’d rather not.”

Draco glared at him, but chose not to answer as they entered the Great Hall. They sat down for breakfast and Draco glanced across to the Gryffindor table. He caught sight of Hermione, reading a book as she ate, and smiled to himself.

“Sap,” Blaise said, shaking his head.

\---

Draco carefully separated from his classmates at the end of class, ignoring Blaise’s watchful gaze. He made his way to the dungeon classroom, where he and Hermione had agreed to meet. The parchments had already become incredibly useful in planning their meetings. He opened the door and saw Hermione was already waiting for him.

“You got here fast,” Draco said, dropping his bag on the floor.

“I had class on the ground floor,” Hermione replied.

“The parchments work!” Draco said, holding his up and grinning.

Hermione smiled back at him. “I was nervous that they wouldn’t.”

“As though you could get a spell wrong.”

“It can happen.”

“I’m yet to see it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “So what’s our plan?”

“List?” Draco asked, holding his hand out.

Hermione grinned, blushing, and reached into her bag for the list of homework she always had on her. Draco glanced at it.

“How about that Arithmancy essay? I haven’t started yet.”

“What? It’s due tomorrow!” Hermione said, aghast.

“Well, someone has been distracting me,” Draco said, smiling.

Hermione blushed. “We’re doing the essay now.”

“Anything you say, dear,” Draco said.

Hermione shook her head at him and reached for her textbook.

They studied in comfortable silence together for most of the afternoon. Draco was surprised at how easily they worked together. He supposed it was similar to what they had been doing for much of the previous year, the only difference being Hermione’s leg resting comfortably against his own. After a couple of hours, Draco glanced at his watch and saw it was almost dinner time. Looking at his watch had reminded Draco of what he had been nervous to ask Hermione all day.

“So—your birthday’s soon, isn’t it?” Draco said, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.

Hermione looked up, surprised. “Uh, yes—yes it is.”

“I was thinking—I understand if you want to be with your friends, but the other day I mentioned a date and, well…” Draco trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

Hermione looked at him, a faint smile on her face.

“Are you saying you want to take me on a date? On my birthday?” she asked.

“Only if you want to!” Draco said quickly.

“I do,” Hermione replied.

Draco smiled, relieved. “Okay—great. Why don’t we meet here then, on the night of your birthday? I’d want to take you somewhere nice, but, given the circumstances…”

“I understand—it’s enough to be able to spend my birthday with you.”

"We should probably go to dinner now—I can follow if you want to go first?” Draco asked.

Hermione nodded and leant over to kiss him before leaving. Draco could still hardly believe that Hermione really wanted to spend her birthday with him. He looked around the room as she left—it wasn’t exactly a romantic setting for a date. He pondered the space carefully, trying to think of a way to make it special enough for Hermione.

\---

Draco waited nervously in the dungeon classroom—after a couple of days of struggling, he had given in and asked for Blaise’s help. He didn’t think he’d ever seen him so smug. It had paid off, however—the room looked brilliant. Blaise’s knowledge of the endless secrets in the Hogwarts castle had included the location of the kitchens—and just how to ask the house-elves for a three course meal without arousing suspicions. Draco had cast a charm on the plates to keep them warm and fresh, before bringing them to the dungeon classroom.

The room itself had undergone a transformation—Draco had managed to conjure some candles and, with Blaise’s help, had transfigured a desk to dinner table. The room looked almost romantic and Draco clutched the flowers he’d had Blaise discreetly order. Draco heard a sound behind him and whipped his head around to see Hermione enter the room. Her mouth fell open as she saw what Draco had managed to put together.

“Draco—oh my—it’s amazing,” she breathed.

Draco stepped forward and held out the flowers for her. “Happy birthday.”

She took the flowers and looked at him, something in her eyes that he could not quite understand.

“This is amazing—I can’t believe you did this for me,” Hermione said.

“Of course—it’s your birthday,” Draco said simply.

“You’re wonderful.” She leaned forward and pulled Draco close with her free hand, kissing him quickly. “Thank you,” she said, pulling away just far enough to speak.

Draco smiled as her breath tickled his face and he pulled her close for another kiss, not letting her move away this time. He would have been happy to spend the night like this, but he had carefully planned their dinner and reluctantly pulled away and gestured toward the table. Hermione set down the flowers and sat across from him.

“How did you manage to bring dinner here?” Hermione asked, looking at the plates.

“Blaise—he knows all sorts of things about Hogwarts. He managed to convince the house-elves to make our dinner separately.”

“Impressive,” Hermione said.

“Don’t get any ideas about going for the wrong Slytherin,” Draco said jokingly.

Hermione smiled. “I’m plenty happy with the one I chose,” she said.

“Good,” Draco replied, reaching for their entrees.

“I haven’t thanked you for the picture!” Hermione said suddenly.

Draco blushed. He’d woken up early that morning to sketch out a picture of Norbert wishing Hermione a happy birthday on his parchment. He had hoped Hermione would see it when she woke up.

“It was nothing,” he said.

“It was brilliant! My dorm-mates thought I was crazy when they heard me laughing.”

Draco smiled—he hadn’t shared his art with anyone apart from Hermione and it always surprised him when she seemed to genuinely like it. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he simply reached for their first course and laid them on the table. He looked up at Hermione as they ate, feeling oddly nervous. They had been friends for years and something more for a couple of months now, yet this was their first date—he felt an odd need to make it perfect.

Draco waited until they had finished dinner to give Hermione the present he had kept hidden all night. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, wrapped neatly with a ribbon. Hermione looked at him quizzically.

“Happy birthday,” he said, holding it out for her.

“What do you mean? Draco, this is all enough already, you didn’t have to get a present too!”

“Well I should tell you it is technically already yours,” Draco said conspiratorially.

“What do you mean?”

“Just open it.”

Hermione carefully peeled back the wrapping and opened the box inside. Her brow furrowed as she pulled the watch out of the box.

“But this is…”

“It’s your watch—I had to ask Weasley to get it.”

“You asked Ron?!”

“No! I mean Ginny—she got it from your trunk.”

“Oh, of course,” Hermione said, nodding. She glanced back down at the watch, bemused. “So is this a reminder to wear it?”

“Well, I’m hoping you’ll wear it—but it’s a little more than that.”

“More?”

“Yes—I added something to it.”

Hermione looked back down at the watch. “I don’t see…”

“Not visibly—I added a spell.”

“A spell?”

“Yes—you mentioned your parents gave it to you and I know how much you miss them at Hogwarts, so I worked out a spell to make them not feel so far.”

“How?” Hermione said, staring at him quizzically. She suddenly gasped and glanced down at the watch in her hand. “What was that?”

Draco grinned. “That was the spell! When your parents are thinking about you, it’ll get warm like that.”

“Wow,” Hermione said, looking down at it. “How did you…?”

“I did a lot of research—in the end, it was a combination of spells. I think it can technically work for anyone you love, but I only included your parents for now.” Hermione blushed at the word ‘love’ and Draco looked away. “Anyway, I thought it would be nice to combine the Muggle and the magic—like you and your parents.”

“It’s wonderful.”

“Why don’t you put it on?” Draco suggested.

“Will you help?” Hermione asked, holding it out to him.

He took the watch from her hand and carefully latched it around her wrist. Her hands caught his as he moved away and she intertwined their fingers together. Draco smiled at her and she leaned forward to kiss him. Her hands moved to reach around his neck, pulling him closer. Draco could never get over how wonderful it was that he was kissing Hermione Granger—that he was the one who made her smile and he was the one she chose to be with. She pulled away after a moment, but kept her arms around his neck.

“You’re amazing, you know that, right?” she said, softly.

Draco looked away. “I’m nothing special.”

“Yeah, you are,” she said, pulling him close for another lingering kiss.

\---

Draco paused to look around him, before turning down the pathway to the dungeon classroom. It had been returned to normal since their date, but Hermione and Draco continued to use it as their meeting place. They felt assured that no one would find them there—they were safe to be together within those walls.

Hermione had written him a message earlier in the day, asking to meet that afternoon. It had become the norm for them to send messages to each other whenever they knew they would be free and meet in the dungeon classroom. Draco found himself content in their odd routine—some afternoons they would study together, but others they would just spend talking and laughing. It was strangely easy to be together in the dungeon classroom—as though the outside pressures couldn’t reach them there.

This afternoon, however, Hermione seemed quieter than usual. She had pulled out her homework almost as soon as Draco arrived and spent most of the afternoon working on it quietly. It wasn’t unusual for them to study in silence, but something in Hermione’s demeanour seemed off.

“Hermione—are you okay?” Draco asked after a while.

Hermione looked up, but her expression read as guilty rather than surprised.

“I’m okay,” she said, cautiously. “There’s just something I’m not sure if I should tell you.”

“You can tell me whatever it is,” Draco said, bracing himself.

“Okay—I just don’t want you to know something that could get you in trouble.”

“Trouble?” Draco asked, puzzled. “What are you doing that could get me in trouble?”

“Well—you know how Umbridge isn’t teaching us anything practical?”

“Yeah—it’s utterly ridiculous,” Draco said, irritated.

“I thought—well, I wanted to learn for our O.W.L.s, but also because we need to defend ourselves—so I thought that maybe—maybe we could teach ourselves.”

“You want us to learn defence?” Draco asked.

Hermione paused, looking as though she was trying to decide what to say.

“Well, we can practice together—but I actually suggested the idea to Harry and Ron.”

“Oh.”

“I just thought with Harry’s experience, he might actually be able to teach us defence—he could maybe even teach a group of students.”

“Yeah—that’s a good idea,” Draco said, feeling stupid for thinking she wanted to learn with him.

“I thought so—and Ron agreed.”

Draco felt his jaw tighten at the mention of Weasley, but he didn’t say anything.

“Harry didn’t like it at first—but he said the other day that he did want to do it. We’re going to meet with people at Hogsmeade.”

“You ought to be careful—Umbridge won’t like it if she hears about this.”

“We will be—we’re just asking people we trust and I’ve been thinking I might look for some spell to use so people are deterred from tattling.”

“Good—I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

“You don’t need to worry—we’ll be careful. I was just worried about you having to keep this a secret too.”

“I can pretend I know nothing,” Draco said. “Just keep me updated with how it goes.”

“You know, I’ll have to practice outside of our meetings—we can work together then.”

“Oh—thanks,” Draco said, hoping his voice sounded natural.

He wasn’t sure why he was upset over this—it was a good thing Hermione was learning to protect herself. The whole idea seemed to just remind him how different their situations were—Hermione was learning to defend herself, while Draco was preparing to be asked to join the other side. He usually managed to leave these thoughts outside the classroom, but Hermione’s plan made the reasons their relationship was a secret obviously clear. Draco was happier than he’d ever been with Hermione, but he couldn’t help but feel jealous over Harry and Ron being able to be with her all the time, without ever worrying about it. She clearly thought Potter was brilliant, having asked him to teach her.

Draco tried to push his jealousy away, but now the thoughts had entered his head, he couldn’t stop thinking about how difficult their relationship was. He loved the ways they had worked around it, with the parchment and their secret meeting places, but he couldn’t help but think how much easier it would be to talk in public, study in the library, have dates in Hogsmeade. He knew their relationship was special because they both worked so hard to keep it, despite its difficulties, but on days like this he found it far too easy to dwell on the difficulties.

“Are you okay, Draco?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, “just thinking.”

“What about?” Hermione asked, leaning close.

“How smart my girlfriend is.”

The words were out of Draco’s mouth before he could stop them. He had only been hoping to distract himself from his worries by focusing on the brilliance of Hermione’s idea—he hadn’t meant to call her his girlfriend. Hermione was staring at him, a faint look of surprise on her face.

“Girlfriend?” she asked.

“I guess we never spoke about that,” Draco said nervously.

“No—I didn’t know if labels were a bad idea given—well, given everything.”

“Right,” Draco said, kicking himself for letting it slip.

“But, I do think you make a wonderful boyfriend, Draco Malfoy,” Hermione said, smiling at him.

Draco looked at her, relieved—she wasn’t furious at him for saying it. She wanted to be his girlfriend—she wanted him to be her boyfriend. He smiled back at her and leaned in to kiss her, hoping that their happiness was enough to keep away his worries.

\---

Draco’s worries only increased in the following weeks—he had tried his best to fade into the background for the year, hoping that it would allow him to be with Hermione, but his name pulled him into the light again. A few weeks into term, Professor Umbridge had decided to ask Draco to stay back after class. He waited for his classmates to leave, feeling nervous and trying to think of something he could have done wrong.

“Have a cup of tea, dear,” she said, gesturing to her desk.

“Oh—thank you,” Draco said, politely, taking a seat and the offered cup.

“I wanted to properly meet you—I know your father, of course, but I am yet to have a conversation with you, Draco!”

“Sorry for my manners,” Draco said, letting his voice become silky and smooth. “I ought to have introduced myself at the beginning of term. I suppose I was so focused on O.W.L.s that I forgot myself.”

“Not to worry, dear,” she said, giving him a sickeningly sweet smile. “I am sure you’re very focused on your studies this year.”

Draco nodded. “Oh, yes—I hope to achieve top grades and work towards a Ministry job.”

“It’s lovely to see young ambition. I am sure you will achieve your goals—with the right  _ connections _ .”

Draco gripped his teacup tightly, sensing there was more to this conversation than she was letting on.

“Draco, dear, I was hoping you could help me,” Umbridge said.

“Of course,” Draco replied smoothly.

She grinned widely at him.

“To be quite honest with you, the Ministry is rather concerned about the happenings at Hogwarts. Now, the Minister greatly respects your father—I was hoping you, too, could prove yourself.”

“How can I help?” Draco asked.

“I’m not asking anything official of you—though there may be a title in the future if you prove yourself now, one with even greater power than that Prefect’s badge you wear. For the moment, I would just like you to tell me anything you hear, or find out, that might be of concern to the Ministry. Can you do that, Draco?”

Draco swallowed his tea, setting his face into a charming smile.

“Absolutely.”

\---

“Fucking piece of absolute fucking shit!” Draco yelled, ripping off his Prefect badge and throwing it on the bed. “Fucking psycho woman with her fucking bullshit—fuck it all.”

He collapsed onto the bed, landing uncomfortably on his badge.

“Well, that was entertaining.”

Draco shot up and saw Blaise watching him from between the curtains surrounding his bed.

“Piss off.”

“No. Who’s the psycho woman?” Blaise asked.

“Piss the fuck off, Blaise,” Draco growled.

“Thanks for the invitation, but no.”

Draco groaned and lay back down on his bed.

“What did Granger do?” Blaise asked.

“Nothing—now fuck off.”

“So if Granger isn’t the psycho woman then who is?” Blaise pondered.

“Fine—I’ll fuck off, then,” Draco said, storming out of the dormitory.

He walked towards the portrait hole, hoping a walk would clear his head.

“You forgot this.”

Draco turned around as he stepped out of the portrait hole to see Blaise holding his Prefect’s badge.

“Don’t need it,” Draco said, turning away.

“Yes, you do, you wanker,” Blaise sighed. “Don’t you remember you have patrol tonight?”

“Yes, I remembered,” Draco said, even though he had forgotten, “I would have come back later.”

“Yeah, right,” Blaise said, falling in step with Draco.

“Thought I told you to piss off,” Draco said, annoyed.

“You did—I chose not to.”

“Tosser.”

“Maybe—anyway, what’s your problem?”

“Nothing.”

“Right—so that display back in the dorm was just for fun?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I would say your performance was sub-par. Quite entertaining, but if I’m being honest, the script could have used a little more creativity.”

“Fuck off.”

“See what I mean? Why not say something a little more creative—begone ye, foul beast—something like that.”

Draco grinned in spite of himself.

“I told you it would be more entertaining.”

“Whatever.”

“So who’s psycho?”

Draco glanced around the corridor they were in to make sure they were alone.

“Umbridge wants me spying on people.”

“Really? Anyone in particular?”

“No—I’m just supposed to tell her anything I hear that might be of interest to the Ministry.”

“And that makes your situation difficult,” Blaise supplied.

Draco nodded. “She mentioned my father and the Minister—it’s pretty clear that if I fuck this up, I’m screwed.”

“So don’t.”

“How? My girlfriend is actively working against her.”

“Okay—don’t tell me anymore about that.”

“I can’t mention her to you?”

“No, not about Granger—about whatever she’s plotting. Don’t tell anyone that. I like knowing secrets but not ones that will endanger my life—or reputation.”

“Fine—I’m just saying, how can I tell Umbridge information that’ll hurt Hermione?”

“Don’t.”

“Didn’t you hear me? She’s reporting on me to my father and the Minister for Magic!”

“I’m not saying don’t tell her anything—just not things that will hurt Granger. Tell her about something minor that won’t actually do any harm but will be enough to win her over. Walk the line, Draco.”

“You might be able to do that, but I don’t know if I can.”

“You’ve been doing it for years.”

“No I haven’t—I’ve been avoiding it.”

“Well, you can’t anymore—you’re going to have to figure out how to manage both, or you’ll have to give one up.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Then walk the line between them.”

“What if I can’t?” Draco asked, his throat suddenly tight.

“Then you’ll have to choose,” Blaise said, his voice far softer than it usually was. “A lot is expected of you—you have to decide what you can live with.”

“What I can live with?”

“What are you willing to lose?”

“Nothing—I can’t lose any of it.”

“Then you need to be very careful—what you’ve chosen isn’t easy.”

“I know that—fucking hell, I know that.”

Draco sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

“No one would blame you, you know,” Blaise said, after a moment.

“What do you mean?”

“If you chose to just go along with—if you made the easy choice. No one would blame you for it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong—she’d never forgive me for it.”

\---

Draco pinned his badge to his robes as he ran to the Entrance Hall to begin his patrol. He was supposed to be with one of the Ravenclaw prefects today and he knew they’d be furious if he was late. As he rounded the corner, however, he saw Hermione waiting for him. He looked at her in confusion as she walked towards him.

“Padma is sick—she asked me to swap her patrol.”

There were a few students lingering in the hall so Draco forced his face into a scowl.

“Perfect—so I’m stuck with you all night.”

“I’m not happy about it either, Malfoy.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Draco said, turning to walk down a corridor.

He heard Hermione fall in step beside him and waited until the other students were out of sight to look at her.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hi,” she said, grinning up at him.

“So Padma is sick?” he clarified.

“And I was kind enough to offer her the night off.”

“Well, aren’t you lovely.”

“I would have written to let you know, but it only happened an hour ago.”

“That’s fine—it’s a nice surprise. I like being able to walk with you without worrying about what people will think.”

“It is nice,” Hermione agreed. She seemed to hesitate for a moment before speaking again. “Do you ever think that will happen? Will we ever be able to be like that?”

Draco breathed in sharply. “I—I don’t know,” he said, truthfully.

“Oh,” Hermione said, her face falling.

“It’s not that I don’t want it—it’s just—it’s so difficult. Your friends hate me, my friends hate you.”

“Harry and Ron would come around. They might not get it, but I think they’d be okay with it eventually—if they saw the Draco I see.”

“Really? You think they’d be understanding? After what happened third year?”

“That was two years ago—it was stupid.”

“It was revealing.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just that maybe they’re not as perfect as you think.”

“I know they’re not perfect—I just think if I one day wanted to tell them about us, they would try to understand.”

Draco shook his head, not wanting to argue any further. “Well then, they’re a lot more understanding than my friends.”

“I thought you said Blaise knew?”

“He does—but the others would never forgive me.”

“Never?” Hermione asked, disbelievingly.

“They believe in everything my family does—who would be even more furious if they found out.”

“Right,” Hermione said, looking around a corner for students, “I’m sorry for asking.”

“Don’t apologise—I want it too, I just can’t afford to hope.”

Hermione nodded.

“I just wonder what the point is,” she said, carefully, “if we can’t ever be together as more than a secret.”

Draco whipped his head around to look at Hermione.

“The point? The point is I—the point is we’re happy. Aren’t you happy?” Draco spoke quickly, trying to cover up what he almost let slip.

“I am—I just want to be able to share that.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco said softly.

“Don’t apologise—we both knew this when we started. It was stupid to ask.”

Draco looked behind a tapestry and let the conversation end. He could have told her there what Umbridge was making him do, the pressures he was facing, but he couldn’t bring himself to. She was already doubting—he knew that’s what she was really saying. Draco couldn’t make himself tell her something that would only add to her worries about him. He’d do what Blaise said—he’d find the line and walk it perfectly. No one would need to get hurt.

\---

They finished off their patrol at midnight, talking intermittently when they felt it was safe. Draco walked Hermione back to the Gryffindor portrait, wanting to make sure she made it back safely.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, as she said goodbye.

“Yes—I should be able to get away tomorrow afternoon.”

“Malfoy?” an angry voice asked behind them.

Draco turned around to see Potter glaring at him, holding something behind his back.

“Well, well—what are you doing out past your bedtime, Potter?”

“What are you doing here?” Potter spat at him.

“Settle down—I, as a prefect, have certain duties. Unfortunately tonight I had to serve them with her,” he said, jerking his head toward Hermione.

“Why couldn’t Ron do it?” Potter asked Hermione.

“I was filling in for Padma—I didn’t know,” she said, stepping back from Draco.

“Right—well, sod off, Malfoy.”

“Careful, Potter—I could give you a detention for being out of bed this late.”

“Shut the—”

“Malfoy, just go—your patrol is over, you’re not supposed to be doing anything now.”

“Isn’t that lucky for you, Potter,” Draco said, sneering at him.

He gave Potter a final nasty glare before walking away.

“You okay? He didn’t give you a hard time tonight, did he?” Draco heard Potter ask Hermione from behind him.

“I’m fine—I’m just exhausted from putting up with him all night.” Hermione said as Draco turned the corner.

He knew she was only saying it to appease Potter, but Draco couldn’t help but wonder if she meant it. The excuse came so easily—did she really find it exhausting to be with him? It was far more effort than a typical relationship, but he had always thought she had considered it to be worth it. Perhaps she had been honest with Potter—maybe she was exhausted by being with him. As Draco made his way back to the Slytherin Common Room, his promise to Umbridge swam back into his mind and he couldn’t help but think he might understand what she meant.


End file.
